Rangers Lead the Way, Никто, кроме нас!
by DEFCON-0
Summary: A delinquent medic with a tragic past and a shell-shocked Russian paratrooper just wanted to have normal lives. Neither of them know why they ended up on the front lines. They're two pawns fighting in a misguided war caused by the will of a single man. This crumbling world is where they discover that they really aren't the people they thought they were. [Violence and ships ahead!]
1. Red Dawn

_I remember that fateful day, right up to the moment I made a single choice. A single choice that ended up being something I'd come to both regret and appreciate. _

_Afghanistan. I was a confused 19-year old with a lack of direction. A kid with no purpose in life. We had just hauled ass from a dismounted patrol gone to shit, because we walked straight into a cluster of IEDs. Goddamn things blew up half of my squad. Being the friendly neighborhood medic, I was the poor bitch who had to deal with having to shoot back and try to keep guys alive at the same time._

"'_No time to wait for EOD__,' they said," I complained. "'We can't miss this opportunity,' they said."_

_It was an absolute clusterfuck out there. The OpFor knew that we thought that area was clear, and decided to show up and mess up our day. I mean, what were we supposed to expect? Contact? Little pussies never engaged us until we actually ended up making a slip. Murphy's Law._

_Make matters worse, I was frankly a lazy shit back then. Sure, I was an athletic person, but it's not like I was even up to par for my occupation. Blame bad fitness regs. Case in point, I got really tired running around in full kit, especially since they didn't even issue us the newer plate carriers. I'd have been the perfect argument against females in combat arms. That would actually come up to bite me in the ass later, as it so turns out._

_I took off my helmet and let it hang by the chinstrap, wincing each time it knocked against my slung M4 and aggravated my headache. I honestly stopped caring about the job at that point. It's pointless fighting a war you can't exactly win by calling in A-10s and M1s and stuff. A war where you're not sure when someone is a friend or an enemy. A war that's not about winning._

"_Um, Jenna__," a young voice called from behind me. "H-How are you doing?"_

_I turned around to find the one person who I still bothered to care about anymore. The only reason I had to fight in the first place. The two of us had somewhat of an uncertain relationship, a romance both of us clung to because there wasn't anything else in the world anymore._

"_Yo, Brooke. You still in one piece?"_

_I already knew that she probably didn't sustain any injuries except maybe a bruise or so. She wasn't really fit for an infantry medic, but there was a perpetual shortage because the bad guys would always look for the bastard wearing a bigger backpack. When bullets were flying, she didn't return fire like I did, she kind of just operated like a WWII doc and focused on the casualties. I was the one who told her to do it in the first place, but it was obvious that's what she was intending to do anyway. Still, I knew that before then she still tried, just so she could impress me. _

"_Don't worry about me. I'm more concerned about how you're doing."_

_Well, she had a point. Frankly, I looked like I accidentally walked in on a drug deal or something. Some RPG shrapnel grazed my cheek, but the cut wasn't deep enough to leave a scar or anything. I rubbed my thumb along my ACH and found a 7.62 lodged in it… lucky day. I half-sincerely wished it went the whole way through the helmet. _

_A heavy step came from behind, a rattle of gear synchronized with crunching of dirt. My CO, specifically, the company commander, came to approach me. The guy didn't really care for us much, I'm actually pretty sure he didn't want to be in charge of us, so it was surprising he'd personally talk to me._

"_Moore," he began. "You know the way you act, and you know you're not getting anywhere in this military. I'm not even sure how you haven't been discharged by now."_

_I glared at the man and clenched my fists, trying to avoid court-martial for assaulting a superior. He was kind of right, though. I definitely had issues, and had I not been in a combat zone and regularly outside the wire, I would have been gone a long time ago. I had a rep for being a pretty crappy soldier. I was always getting into fights, pranking people, mouthing off, stuff like that. As if that was really that special in my company. My entire platoon consisted of delinquent and unfit soldiers the Army just couldn't afford to send back to the States and discharge. _

"_But, as it so turns out, the powers that be have the offer of a lifetime. They want you to go through the Ranger Assessment and Selection Program. I dunno, usually soldiers request to go to RASP. But if you decide to take them up on the offer, you'll be the first female Ranger in history. No, no, not the first to pass Ranger School, you're not that special. I mean a scrolled Ranger. In the actual Regiment. We both know you're going nowhere in life, Moore. Might as well. You up?"_

_Back then, I didn't think much of that. Brooke might have convinced me to join the Army, but she couldn't encourage me to keep going. Every day I wished I could take a round in the skull and go down like a hero. Like my parents did._

_I still found it odd they chose me to be the first candidate to be the first female Ranger. Why the fuck would they choose a lowlife, below-average delinquent like myself? Later on I'd find out it had more to do with politics than anything else. It was rigged from the start._

"_Sure," I merely replied, not even bothering to look into his eyes. "Nothin' to lose."_

"_Good. They've actually arranged transport home for you. They've already prepped your personal shit, and we'll just pretend that we didn't find a shitload of tequila. Five minutes, and you're outta here and on your way to Bagram."_

_Yup, I'm sure he was glad to have finally gotten rid of me._

"_Well, Brooke… guess this is it. I'm finally leaving this shithole. I feel kinda bad for leaving you behind."_

"_Y-yeah. I hope to see you again. I'm… I'm gonna miss you. Jenna, you're all I have left."_

"_I'll meet you again when this is done. Ain't likely I'm passing. Plus, if I do make it in, when I hit Sergeant, they'll make me go to Ranger School... I won't pass that one for shit."_

_I saw her biting her lip, holding back tears, trying to stay strong for me. I was her crush ever since the beginning of high school, and here we were finally parting. _

_"I won't be able to protect you anymore, all right? So please, promise me, you'll be there when I'm done."_

_"Jenna..."_

_I walked away, and I knew that the second I turned around, she was already sobbing. _

_And when I boarded the helicopter, I had absolutely no idea what I was getting into. _

* * *

"We're going to be experiencing some slight... turbulence for a little while. I would tell you guys to buckle your seatbelts if you had them."

_Operation Wolverine_

_August 13, 2016_

_Pvt. Natalia Petrova_

_Russian VDV_

_Airspace over Virginia, USA_

Natalia quietly fiddled with her handgun as her AN-124 rocked from the explosions going off outside the aircraft. She was a VDV soldier who was forced to fight for the Ultranationalists in the aftermath of 2011's civil war, and was deployed to invade the United States after US-supported terrorists attacked Zakhaev International Airport.

Or so she was told.

None of it really mattered, she was there to fight for her country. The United States was to pay for their mistake of messing with Russia. And Russia would send a bunch of draftees who didn't want to go. The war was doomed from the start.

She didn't really have any time to ponder why she was fighting. A message over the aircraft's intercom came on, and everyone's attention snapped to the speakers.

"You all know what we are here for. Many of you have lost loved ones. Some of you haven't. Either way, you have a duty for your great nation! We will exact revenge on the murderers who spilled our people's blood on our soil! We stand for what we, as a country, believe in! Remember the massacre! Make these filthy pieces of shit pay for what they've done!" the speaker blared.

A dim red light flooded the cabin, and the door was opened, allowing the brilliant rays of the sun into the plane.

"All right, guys, that's the United States down there. Let's get the party started."

Skies over America. They weren't flying over their own soil for once.

"HOOK UP!"

Natalia reached upward to attach her snap link, struggling as the plane shook and bounced violently. Gritting her teeth, she stood up on her tiptoes and snapped it on with a _click._

"CHECK STATIC LINES!"

She reached up and tugged lightly on hers, suddenly realizing that her hand was shaking. A nearby blast knocked the aircraft banking to the side, nearly causing her to fall over before the soldier behind her took hold of her vest and yanked her back to her feet.

"CHECK EQUIPMENT!"

Everything seemed accounted for. She took special care to keep her carbine secured, because there was no knowing what kinds of people she would be facing on the ground.

"SOUND OFF FOR EQUIPMENT CHECK!"

The sounds of rustling, smacking, and knocking gradually grew louder as each soldier in line slapped the next. A minute passed, and the explosions outside grew more and more frequent.

"Are we actually doing this?" Natalia asked nervously.

"Shut up, you dumbass! No time to talk! Save it 'til we're on the ground!" another paratrooper snapped.

"STAND IN THE DOOR!"

Natalia was the second person in line, and she watched the first jumper take his position. He recoiled slightly, eyes widening at the sight before him. He shook his head and braced himself.

A deafening noise came from the other side of the plane, where another stick of jumpers was ready to deploy. An explosion tore off a chunk of the fuselage, vaporizing a couple of soldiers and sucking a few more out of the gaping hole. She gawked at the sight momentarily before the soldier behind her punched the back of her head. She turned back to the door and saw that the dim red light had become a blinding green.

"GO! GO! GO!"

She quickly leaped off the plane, her chute deployed just like the past million times.

Unlike the past million times, there were people shooting at them.

"Son of a bitch," she gasped as she saw the thousands of parachutes around her, the bursts of anti-aircraft guns going off, and the massive landscape of Virginia just waiting to be conquered.

-_at the same time-_

_Pvt. Jenna Moore_

_US Army 75th Rangers, 1st Battalion_

"Mom, what the hell? I'm done with school!" Jenna muttered as someone violently shook her in her bed. "MOM WHAT THE FUC-?"

"Moore. I freaking swear! First of all, Mom's not in here, he's outside," her friend Pvt. James Ramirez snapped. "Second of all, get up! The Russkies are falling from the sky!"

Jenna fell out of the bed, slamming against the floor forcefully with grace. She rose, stumbling and leaning against Ramirez momentarily to regain her balance. Did she just hear what she thought she just heard?

"M-Moore! G-Get off of me before someone gets the wrong idea!"

"You're kidding me. Right?" she asked, backing off. "This is one of your sick jokes, isn't it?"

Before James could answer, Sgt. Foley nudged his way around the other Rangers kitting up, adjusting his Ranger Green plate carrier over his Army Combat Uniform. His strides were more rushed than usual, and that was a sign something was up. Foley was probably as chill as Sergeants could get.

"Oh no, it's no joke, Moore. Get moving, and I'm serious this time. We're up to bat, and we gotta secure an HVI," Foley ordered. "Time's wasting, what the hell are you waiting for!?"

"Oh, hey, Mom," the two greeted in unison.

Jenna and James both started gearing up. By now, it was routine, but it all felt so different. Probably because last time, they were the invaders themselves. And... well, Russians weren't out for blood.

"You know," James said. "If you're gonna keep sleeping in like that you're never getting that promotion you want. If I acted as much like a delinquent as you do I'd get kicked out in a week."

"Where's my shirt?" Jenna muttered. "No time for this."

"Hey! Don't ignore me like that!"

Jenna lazily threw everything on top of her T-shirt, not giving a damn about regs. Russians invading, who actually gave two shits?

The Rangers jogged out and joined the rest of the troops scrambling to their Humvees and Strykers to be the Russian welcoming committee. James spotted Cpl. Dunn, who motioned to the two to get in the Humvee.

He quickly leaped into the passenger seat, and Jenna took her spot in the back.

"Seriously?" James shot, holding up a picture of a girl he found on the dashboard. "You still have this damn photo? WHY IS IT SO STICKY!?"

"Your sister's hot," Dunn sheepishly grinned. "What-!? Hands off the radio, dude!"

Ramirez chuckled, sliding a CD into the player. "It's Raining Men" by The Weather Girls began to play over the speakers. A nearby vehicle honked loudly while a Ranger on its turret turned and flipped them off. The force was a mix of tired soldiers hating life, professionals who kept calm, and pumped-up guys ready to defend American soil.

"You have a sick sense of humor, James," Jenna giggled as the Humvee rolled into its place in the convoy.

"Ladies, gentlemen, time to show these vodka-drunk commies what we do for a living! Time to show them a force that actually shoots back!" Foley addressed over the comms. " Rangers... let's make Ivan cry!"

* * *

**For the record, "Никто, кроме нас!" is the Russian VDV motto. **

**Buckle up, readers. You're in for a helluva ride.**


	2. Welcome to the Black Parade

_Operation Wolverine_

_August 13, 2016_

_Pvt. Natalia Petrova_

_Russian VDV_

_Virginia, USA_

"GODDAMMIT!" Natalia cursed, grunting as she tried to reach her knife. Of course, of all things to happen, she had to land in a tree. TWO FEET OFF THE DAMN GROUND.

"I swear, this is probably the most cliché thing that can possibly happen to a paratrooper…"

She scanned the vicinity to see if anyone who could help her was nearby. She gripped her AKS-74 carbine in her hand, just in case anyone who _wouldn't_ help her was nearby.

After seeing pretty much no one, she continued to struggle to get her knife. Where the hell was it? Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted part of a convoy headed down the road, and instantly recognized the profile of American Humvees. She instantly played dead and hung in the tree as she waited for them to pass.

_Hurry the hell up. HURRY THE HELL UP._

* * *

_Pvt. Jenna Moore_

_75th Rangers Regiment, 1st Bt._

Jenna leaned back in her seat and stroked her M4A1 carbine, eyeing the words "Black Parade" she etched into it.

_Nothing makes war more fun than My Chemical Romance references_, she mused, whistling the opening bars to the song.

Looking up, something white caught her eye. She followed the strings down and spotted a Russkie paratrooper hanging in a tree. She promptly tapped Pvt. Ramirez on the shoulder and pointed.

"Don't worry, that one's dead. VDV," he replied, recognizing the urban red camouflaged uniform. "Yeah, probably got hit by AA or something coming down, no paratrooper is that stupid to land in a tree. Dunno why that corpse ain't blown apart though."

"Stop dicking around, you two. Keep your eyes peeled. We're not here to shoot at dead people," Cpl. Dunn called out from the driver's seat.

Natalia silently waited for the Yanks to pass, feeling the presence of their M134 miniguns in her direction and the gaze of their steely, apprehensive eyes.

_Of all people… why me!?_

After the last of the Humvees disappeared from view, she quickly got her radio (in reach, unlike her knife) and suddenly stopped.

"Что за хуы? I could have radioed for help!" she groaned. "Well, hey, I'm better off than if I weren't the comms person."

"This is Poacher 3-1. Be advised, I have spotted American convoy headed east. Recommend intercepting them with a BTR. I am stuck in a tree, and my coordinates are as follows," she reported, naming her position.

"Roger, 3-1. This is 1-2, we will intercept them at the nearest intersection, and we're sending Sgt. Petrov from 1-3 and his men for you," came the reply.

"Copy that, 1-2. Tell him that Natalie told him to hurry his ass up," Natalia chuckled. Sgt. Viktor "Vik" Petrov was her cousin, also in the VDV.

"Hey Poacher 3-1. This is Poacher 1-3 Actual. Nice to hear from you again. Who are you sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G this time?" a familiar voice radioed.

"Real funny, Vik. Says the one who landed on the instructor during training," Natalia told him back. "I think that he was so brain-damaged he asked for you to get promoted."

"Shut up."

* * *

Sgt. Foley interrupted Jenna in the middle of her casual Tetris session with a "We got a BTR! GET OUT, GET OUT! Team, this way, let's go let's go!"

"Goddammit! Can't a girl beat a level _in peace!?"_

With her piece in her left hand and Game Boy in her right, she leaped out of the Humvee and followed Ramirez as the BTR shredded the vehicle in front of them. She lifted her rifle and sprayed as she ran, not noticing the curb, and tripped.

"GOD!" said Dunn, who quickly ran and grabbed the back of Jenna's vest, dragging her into the alley between two houses as Pvt. Morgan covered him. "Moore, you're a dumbfuck."

"Thanks dude, I owe you one," she sighed.

Ramirez came up from behind and stuffed something into one of her plate carrier's pouches.

"Here's your Game Boy. Don't see why I brought it. After all, Nintendium can survive nuclear explosions from what I know," he yawned as he shouldered his SCAR-H. "I knew that shit would get you in trouble sooner or later."

"Overlord, this is Hunter 2-1 requesting air support, over!" Sgt. Foley requested over the comms, shutting down the exchange.

"Like hell we'll have it! Look at all the enemy air overh-" Jenna piped up as Foley interrupted her.

"Shut up, Moore!" he snapped, holding up his hand.

"Hunter 2-1, all air support is already engaged. Additional ground support is en route to your position but has encountered heavy resistance, over," Overlord responded matter-of-factly like he always did.

Jenna glared at Foley, shrugged, and pressed the corner of her mouth and her cheek, giving him that "skeptical" look. He rolled his eyes, nodded back, and started moving. Everyone else followed behind, feeling royally screwed over.

The Rangers jogged through the yard and slid into a ditch full of filthy water and trash.

"Roger that Overlord. Be advised, we've encountered enemy armor and are proceeding on foot, over," Foley continued.

"Overlord copies all. Good luck. Out," Overlord concluded.

"He pretty much just told us to stick it up our ass," James quietly grumbled.

Overhearing him, Dunn raised his voice.

"Sarge, did HQ just tell us to go 'F' ourselves?"

"Pretty much, Corporal," Foley said.

As they crossed the street, something exploded to Jenna's left. The BTR was there, surrounded by soldiers. Everyone lifted their weapons.

"Wait, stop!" Jenna interjected. "Don't fire at him, he doesn't see us."

"She has a point," Ramirez agreed, being the first to lower his gun. Everyone else followed suit and proceeded to sneak past.

They came through an alley perpendicular to the street it was on, to the right of the BTR. The soldiers ran onto the street, noticing the plume of smoke rising from where the HVI they needed to secure, Raptor, went down.

"We're spotted! Ramirez! Use your smoke grenades! Dunn, Morgan, Moore, cover him!" Foley ordered.

"Oh shit-" Ramirez panicked, throwing himself behind the ammo crate he was refilling from as shells went boom around him. He readied a smoke as Jenna and Dunn sustained fire at soldiers dismounting from the vehicle, killing them all in rapid succession.

Viktor, Natalia, and their squad came down the street and checked left at an intersection, identifying the BTR, albeit covered in smoke. They also saw at least three soldiers, one pinned behind an ammo crate, and the other two slaughtering the Russian soldiers coming out.

"Oh, shit! Hostiles!" Natalia blurted as everyone opened fire at the Rangers.

"Damn, let's go, LET'S GO!" Jenna urged, yanking Dunn and running.

She quickly slid into an alley and saw some poor Russkie struggling to get out of his chute and jumped as Ramirez popped him.

"Holy crap," he murmured, standing there. "My first kill today. I've actually killed someone Russian."

"No time for this, Ramirez!" Dunn said, running past and pushing him forward. "Not unless you want yourself to die killing only one of these bastards."

"Heh, 1:1 KD," Jenna giggled as she continued on behind Foley, who was in turn, behind Ramirez.

"Where are they going?"

"That one in the back isn't covering their six," Viktor observed. "Take him down."

Pvt. Morgan proceeded to follow the rest, but a gloved hand grabbed his face and another arm went around his torso. He struggled to get out of his assailant's grip, but these guys really knew how to keep someone from escaping.

"That house back there! Someone, kick down the door!"

_Let go of me, damn it!_

Morgan was shoved into the corner forcefully. He founded himself greeted by an AK's barrel in his face, its owner an angry-looking dude ready to beat the shit out of him.

"Hola."

Viktor socked him across the face with the hard knuckles on his glove.

"Where were the rest of you guys going!?" he asked in Russian.

The American returned a bewildered expression, upon which Natalia decided to step forward and immediately translate.

"Henry Morgan. Private," Morgan deadpanned. "Ain't getting shit outta me, Ivan. By the way, Miss, can I say you're pretty?"

"What is your objective, Private Henry Morgan?" Vik inquired.

"Henry Morgan. Private."

"Dammit! All right, Private, let's see if you'll talk any longer," he said, frustrated with the protocol for answering to interrogation. "Natalia. Put this fucking thing's barrel down his throat. Maybe he'll sing."

"What the hell, Vik? I'm better than this! _You're _better than this!" Natalia protested as Viktor pressed a pistol into her hand.

Viktor narrowed his eyes. _"Do it."_

She took the gun, reluctantly paused, and shoved it into his mouth.

"Please, don't make me do this, Henry..."

"Hehry Mohgeh," he repeated one last time before Natalia pulled the trigger, splattering brain matter into his helmet and watching blood come down his face.

"I thought so. I recommend we move," Viktor said in a low voice. "Stalk them and see where they're going."

_No, I seriously did NOT just do that! That was wrong, so fucking wrong! _Natalia agonized, cursing herself for going ahead with that.

"Hey, Natalie! What's with the face? Come on, get your ass moving already."

* * *

**Another chapter gone. I'll keep it quick for any readers, if people even read this at all. I decided to integrate Jenna and Natalia into the actual story of MW2, and I'm trying not to use too much of its dialogue, so tell me if I do. If you understand what the title of this chapter and the name scribbled into Jenna's M4A1 is a reference to, you win a million bucks. The scene where Vik interrogates Pvt. Morgan may or may not be a reference to a certain scene in Battlefield 4. Poor Natalia is getting corrupted, and it's only chapter two. Anyway, if you can, review this thing. I'm dying to hear your opinions on how absolutely terrible this thing is.**


	3. Fallen Angels

_Wolverines!_

_August 13, 2016_

_Pvt. Jenna Moore_

_Attached to 1st Bn, 75th Rangers Regiment_

_Virginia, USA_

As the Rangers instinctively moved to cover in the alleyway, Jenna glanced behind herself. She could have sworn someone was missing.

"Where the hell is Morgan?" she asked herself.

She glanced at Foley, Dunn, and Ramirez, who were proceeding to clear the alleyway, then checked behind her. She noticed a trail of blood coming from the alley toward one of the houses, and was about to go to it as a round whizzed by her head. She immediately snapped her attention to the bunch of Russians behind her, lifted her rifle and opened fire on them.

* * *

Meanwhile, at the same time the Rangers were occupied, Vik, Natalia, and the Russians were moving out of the house where they interrogated Pvt. Morgan, sneaking out through the back door.

"You, stay right here and watch our backs. After we leave, we'll wait at that house over there for you," Vik said to a soldier, pointing. "Watch the body, I know for a fact someone will try and investigate."

As the VDV piled out the back door, Natalia tried to grasp what just happened. She had just illegally executed a soldier under orders.

"_It's fair enough. He must have deserved it,"_ she told herself.

She couldn't accept her own justification, however. The other soldiers desired to kill each and every American they could get, whether they be combatants or civilians. They wouldn't stop until Washington, DC burned down. They wouldn't stop until the streets of the country ran red with the blood of innocents the same way it painted the airport. The soldiers around her seemed almost irritated that their job was to neutralize American defenses instead of storming houses. The White House would burn to black ashes in the end if the madness didn't stop.

And something about that made her sick.

* * *

Dunn was getting sick and tired of the damn Russians who were perpetually present. They wouldn't stop coming. He realized that it was a _gas station_ they were next to, and an evil grin came over his face. He took a grenade launcher and fired into the pumps, making the entire parking lot explode with a satisfying **BOOM!**

Ramirez attempted to round the corner, but a flurry of rounds exploded at his feet, making him perform an awkward dance back into cover.

"We're pinned," he gasped.

"No, really?"

Jenna looked back at the house and decided to go over to it, her curiosity winning over. She peered through the window, seeing one enemy soldier in there, and what looked like a person sitting down. She looked around the house and found the back door, checking it. Unlocked.

The soldier inside was astonished as an American suddenly appeared, took his head, and smashed it into a nearby window, but he was out cold before he could process it.

"Jesus Christ..." Jenna trailed off, gaping at Morgan's corpse. "Need to get these photos for body ID, damn."

She walked over to the unconscious Russian soldier and pulled out her canteen.

"Heh, this is gonna be fun," she chuckled to herself as she poured water over the man's face and removed her helmet.

"What the-? Ugh, my head…" he drawled in Russian.

Next thing, there was an enemy soldier standing over him with a handgun. This wasn't going to end well at all. Oh well, at least she had a nice ass.

"Hey, Ivan. Care to tell me who that man is over there in the chair?" Jenna slowly spoke playfully, as if she were trying to communicate with a child.

"I have n-no idea! I wasn't part of it!" he responded in a heavily-accented voice. "I-I mean, I saw it!"

"Fine. Where is the rest of your squad?" Jenna continued innocently.

"Not telling you."

"That's too bad. And to think I wouldn't just execute you on the spot," she smirked, holding up her M9.

"I'll never talk, you bitc-" the VDV man spat, only for the medic to poke the gun's barrel in his face.

"Give me one good fucking reason why I shouldn't kill you the same way you killed my friend…"

Silence.

She holstered the pistol, pulled the Russian up by his shirt, and slammed him against the wall. He returned with a sudden headbutt, knocking Jenna back recoiling in pain.

_Shoulda kept the bucket on!_

She dodged to the side, and the soldier's fist smashed through the wall where her head just was a second ago.

"Now you've done it!"

She slipped beneath his arm to the other side and threw her body against his limb, which he was still struggling to free. Her body armor gave the medic just enough momentum to bend that arm the wrong way, a sickening snap clicking into her ear.

The soldier collapsed to the floor, hollering in agony and gripping at his incredibly fucked-up elbow. He attempted to rise, only for his chest to be met with a surprisingly small combat boot knocking the wind out of his lungs.

Jenna slowly shifted her weight to that foot, nonchalantly observing her opponent's expression turn to one of panic.

"Shoulda thought twice," she said, pressing harder as the soldier desperately wheezed.

She remained that way until he stopped his attempts to draw air.

"Guess I took your breath away," she quipped. "Damn. That was cheesy. Did I seriously say something like that?"

A soldier suddenly kicked open the front door, and Jenna's M9 immediately went in his direction.

"Whoa, whoa, no need for that. Where in the world have you been, we seriously need you back…in…the…" Pvt. James Ramirez trailed off. "…Morgan."

She could see it in his eyes. James snapped.

"Thanks for fucking killing that piece of shit," he said, seeing the corpse beneath Jenna's foot. "Just keep doing that."

"Ramirez…"

"Let's go," he growled, grabbing Jenna's arm and pulling her out the door.

* * *

"Where is he?" Natalia asked, to no one in particular.

"No idea. Whatever, we need to move. He's not going to come, they already got him," Viktor urged, signaling to everyone to get up and move out. "There's a shopping center nearby. We need to get there and reinforce our men there, as the Americans are securing something."

"Whatever happened to following that one bunch?" Natalia frowned. "How do we suddenly know their plans?"

"It's pretty obvious where they're going, dumbass. They have something, so we want it. Now we need to beat them there."

James and Jenna both sprinted across the street toward the Nate's diner.

"That's where Sarge told us to go," he nodded, glancing toward Foley and Dunn behind a car waiting for them.

"Where were you?" Foley angrily squinted. "I know that you two wouldn't desert us, but why the hell did you-"

Jenna proceeded to hold up photos she had of Morgan. "Found him. It was the Russians."

Sgt. Foley felt his soul drain. He treated his men like his own family, and he felt as if he could have stopped this.

"We'll handle that afterwards," he said, straightening up and shaking it off as if nothing happened. "Let's go and ask where Raptor is."

As they staggered into Nate's, a few dug-in Rangers took notice of Jenna among them.

"Look, guys, the base whore!"

"Walking mattress, inbound!"

"You give service to Russians now?"

She tried to ignore them as much as she could. After all, it was mostly rumors. It wasn't her fault a certain man got her drunk on purpose to take advantage of her like that. And then when she refused, everyone started agreeing that she was a slut. Assholes.

"Private, gimme a sitrep! Where's Raptor?" Foley asked a soldier, tapping his shoulder.

Whipping around and reloading his rifle, he responded, "We moved him to the meat locker, it's practically bulletproof!"

"What's his status?"

"He's still unconscious, you got a medic?"

"Cpl. Dunn, Pvt. Moore, check it out. What else?" Foley said.

Jenna couldn't hear the rest of that conversation, as Dunn had tapped her helmet and motioned with his head to come to the meat locker where Raptor was. She did, however, hear Foley yell "Ramirez!" and order him to do something. Each time Foley called that name, a James Ramirez was dying somewhere.

* * *

"Wait for the smoke… ONE, TWO, THREE, GO!" Sgt. Petrov barked as the smoke grenade he just tossed popped.

His men proceeded to file out from behind the building, but all of a sudden the soldiers in front began to drop. Right when Natalia was about to move, the guy in front of her suddenly had his brains splattered on the wall.

"What are you doing, Petrova? MOVE!" the troops behind her yelled.

"No way in hell I'm going! There's a sniper! Unlike you idiots, I'd like to live."

"For Zakhaev's sake, you're Russian! GO!"

She found herself shoved from cover. A round impacted the ground near her foot, and in panic, she fell to the ground.

Ramirez peered through the thermal scope of the M14 EBR he was armed with, lightly squeezing the trigger when necessary. It was way too easy.

Natalia scrambled behind a burnt-out car and winced as her comrades were picked off. She wanted to be somewhere else. Anywhere else. Anywhere but this god-forsaken country.

A sentry gun atop the building spun up and aimed right at her, but at the last second, the sniper picked it up and deployed it in a different direction. Apparently, the threat was neutralized in his eyes.

Vik, along with his survivors, quickly sprinted to the Nate's along with the reinforcements pouring in.

Man after man tried to make it to the roof but died in the process, their lifeless bodies raining from the roof and piling up near the ladders. Natalia panicked. She would be next.

Finally, it was her turn. She started up the ladder, praying that her death would be quick. It wouldn't, at least if executing the defenseless American was bad Karma.

* * *

**Woo. Another chapter gone and out of the park! I'm just going to take a few liberties with the script and pacing of the missions, as it's hard to develop characters when things are going as fast as they are in MW2. Anyway, I'm kind of trying not to make Jenna and Natalia absolute angels, as you can tell, Jenna's slept around and Natalia is slowly starting to succumb to cowardice, executions of innocents aside. Sorry if I don't focus on Natalia as much as I should, I kind of get carried away with the Rangers because the mission in-game is from their POV. Anyway, I want to hear from anyone reading- ANYONE- I AM DESPERATE. *Ahem.* Hope you liked it.**


	4. Face Down

**If you don't mind, I'm going to reply to some reviews I got, up here. Skip ahead to the story if you're not interested.**

**First off, I really want to thank you for responding. I can't bear writing and not getting feedback, as I have no idea if people are liking it, not liking it, or reading it at all even.**

**Clara- Glad you liked it! As for my grammar, well, I don't like to brag at all (Actually I hate it), but I'm really good at that subject in school, so…**

**Jay2658: "Not half bad?" Well, that means I need to work harder XD! Anyway, I'm glad it got better as you went. I kind of want to reward the readers who decide to push past the first chapter or so, y'know?**

**Anyway, on to the story! (Is it just me or are these chapters getting longer?)**

* * *

Pvt. James Ramirez winced as he felt the shockwave of another Claymore mine going off behind his back. It threw his aim off, and he accidentally missed his target.

Meanwhile, Natalia was almost at the top of the ladder when the mine went off. She froze, terrified of what was above.

"I swear, Petrova, we'll win the war before you make it to the top!" a soldier jeered from below.

She flipped her finger at him and continued up just to prove him wrong. Peeking over the top of the building, she could see a handful of Rangers, but no one had noticed her yet. She stepped onto the building, instinctively crouching and raising her assault rifle at the first guy she saw.

James quickly scanned around and noticed a Russian coming off the ladder. The Claymores were gone? He grunted as he suddenly felt a sharp pain in his leg and realized he was hit. As he struggled to pull out his M9, Foley had a flashbang ready. He was planning to use it on the soldiers inside the building, but he turned at the last minute and tossed it at the enemy soldier.

Natalia squeezed her eyes shut as the damned thing went off right in front of her. Stumbling around, she couldn't hear the voices of her comrades telling her she was going the wrong way over the ringing in her ears.

Foley tried to suppress his laugh as the VDV trooper walked right off the building and fell to the ground with a satisfying "THUD!"

"Private Moore, Corporal Dunn, gimme a sitrep on Raptor, over!" he radioed as James decided to ignore the smarting wound in his thigh.

"Raptor is secure and stable," Dunn responded as he watched Moore do her job.

Two BTRs were still threatening the Rangers, and some asshat with a UAV was firing missiles everywhere. James tried not to roll his eyes as Sgt. Foley ordered him, and him only, to go and secure the UAV.

"I'm sending part of the squad to help you out! Go!" he heard on his way out. Thank God.

* * *

Natalia woke up inside a house that was being used as a makeshift field hospital. Apparently, the big joke was that _Pvt. Petrova the paratrooper was pushed off the protruding edge of a building._ It wasn't even that funny. How did the joke spread so quickly?

"What is this bullshit? I should be out there, fighting!" she protested.

"I guess you're fine. It doesn't seem like you sustained any injuries at all," the medic replied calmly.

An explosion suddenly went off outside, and the building rocked. Poor Natalia fell off her cot and landed face down. She overheard the radio, though. Some American managed to slaughter everyone in the building where the UAV control rig, take the UAV, and blow up the BTR support. Apparently, he also had bad aim.

"Hunter 2-1, work on your aim. That missile totally missed," Overlord drawled.

"Sorry, sir. Ramirez seems to have a bit of trouble getting used to a Cyrillic keyboard," Foley replied.

"See ya," Natalia mumbled as she picked up her AKS-74 and went out the door.

"Hey, you! Yeah, you!" an officer outside shouted, pointing at her. "Listen, we found out where the HVI is located. Take this laser designator and paint the building where he is, it's the diner!"

"Y-yes sir?" Natalia said, slightly confused. Just got out of the field hospital and already taking orders. Wait. Where was her _squad_? Where was _Vik_?

"Wait a second, sir, I need to find my squad," she apologized, going back into the house and locating the medic.

"Excuse me, ma'am, but do you know where Sergeant Petrov from Poacher 1-3 is?"

The medic knew exactly why she was asking, and took off her helmet solemnly.

"He went down after dragging you to safety. He took a couple of hits on the way blocking the bullets," she sighed. "I'm sorry."

"I understand," Natalia nodded, trying to suppress her tears. She turned around and kicked the door open, stomping up to the officer who had just ordered her to lase the target.

"I'm on it, sir."

* * *

"Enemy fast movers! TAKE COVER!" Foley yelled at the top of his lungs as two MIGs flew over the Nate's and bombed it. The Russians had managed to find them and attack.

Meanwhile, Pvt. Moore and Cpl. Dunn heard the scream of the jets and the blasts of the bombs from the meat locker.

"2-1 Actual, you still there?" he asked, listening intently to the Sarge's response.

He looked up at Jenna.

"Here's the scoop. We're moving Raptor to Burger Town, but Ramirez is injured and needs help securing it," Dunn reported, averting his eyes from Jenna's as concern slowly crept into her face. "We're compromised, and we gotta get Raptor's ass to Burger Town."

Jenna nodded in determination. She was going to do this, as it would make things easier for her friend.

"Come on," she grunted, struggling to pull Raptor over her shoulders. "For the love of-!"

She managed to do it, despite the man being much larger than she. The medic drew her M9, nodding at Dunn and waving him to lead the way out.

The VDV officer spotted through his binoculars an American moving the HVI, the airstrikes having failed to take them out. If he was important to them, then he had to be secured.

"All, right, guys," he stood up, facing the group of stragglers standing around him. "That guy in the suit is our man. You're cleared to engage the medic carrying him, she's armed. We need to get the man alive, so watch your fire out there."

Natalia nodded and jammed a magazine into her weapon. Game time.

The soldiers rapidly filed out from cover and took up positions to suppress the enemies there. Natalia quickly dashed from cover to cover, trying to flank the Americans and get to the soldier moving the HVI. Luckily, the Rangers hadn't noticed, and were trying to stop the Russians.

"Keep these guys off me!" Sgt. Foley barked as he reloaded, not noticing the soldier sneaking up.

Halfway through the move, Jenna was pretty winded already. Raptor was one heavy motherfucker. She saw Ramirez in the doorway waving to her, SCAR in one hand. Out of nowhere, though, his mouth dropped and he pointed a shaking finger towards her. Or… _behind her?_

Natalia swiftly swooped up behind Jenna, and raising her rifle, smacked the American's brunette head with the stock. Jenna's face hit the pavement, and as she rolled to the side, she saw a knife come down and bounce off the pavement. Lucky.

The Russian suddenly cried out and clutched her chest, instantly recognizing the bite of a 9mm round from Jenna's M9 being stopped by her soft armor. She fell to the ground and waited to be finished off. But nothing happened.

Jenna was hauling ass into the Burger Town, and the other men had already carried Raptor in. Natalia's own comrades pulled back from the assault while she rolled over, caught her breath, and stumbled away.

"This blows," Jenna grumbled, rubbing the back of her head. AK butts really sucked. "I can still watch Raptor, though."

"Good," Foley replied, lightly shoving her into the meat locker and closing the door. "Squad, I've made it to the Burger Town meat locker. Raptor is inside and secure. The door is shut - you guys keep Ivan out. Friendly convoy is oscar mike."

"That bitch…" Natalia trailed off as she rubbed her finger over the deformed bullet lodged in her vest. More and more of her comrades were trying to storm the Burger Town but were blown to bits by missiles from above. "Hand me that radio, willya?"

"Sure thing, Petrova," a private mumbled from somewhere, coming up and handing her a radio and a headset.

"Thanks. I'm actually a radio operator, I can guide our air support.," she explained, keying the button. "This is Poacher 3-1. Be advised, our UAV has been hijacked and is being used against us. Any anti-air capable units in this sector, please respond."

"Roger that, Poacher 3-1. This is Fowler 1-1. We'll have two choppers split off from our formation and assist you. We'll take out the UAV and provide close air support. And, by the way 3-1, you have a cute voice, can I have your number?" the radio crackled back.

Natalia giggled, flustered by the guy on the other side of the radio.

"M-Maybe... j-just tell those pilots to get their asses on station," she replied.

"ETA five minutes."

After about six minutes of carnage later, a missile slammed into the UAV and blew it up, as promised.

"Someone just took out our Predator! Be advised, the Predator is offline! I repeat, the Predator is offline!" Ramirez snapped in frustration.

"Sorry we're late to the party. Had to grab a drink, darling," the pilot, smooth as hell like usual, said over comms. "Confirmed hit on target. How copy?"

"Solid copy Fowler 1-1. Be advised, we have enemy anti-air, take them out before they take you out," Natalia echoed. But before 1-1 could reply, a Stinger missile collided with the chopper.

"дерьмо! Fowler 1-2 is down, I say again, 1-2 is down!" 1-1 swore.

"Hot damn on a plate!" Dunn cheered as his Stinger killed a chopper.

"Hunter 2-1, relay from Goliath One: you got an enemy helicopter loaded for bear approaching your area, over," Overlord notified.

"Eyes up! Enemy gunship comin' in hot!"

It didn't take Cpl. Dunn yelling for Ramirez to know that there was another Havoc coming in. He instinctively raised his launcher, cleared his backblast, and fired it at the bird, taking it down.

"F-Fowler 1-1? Come in, do you read me?" Natalia pleaded after seeing him go down. "You sonofabitch!"

Natalia watched as the final wave of stragglers was torn to pieces, being shot in the back as they attempted to retreat. A soldier stumbled from the direction of the huge firefight, obviously dazed. He was covered in blood splattered all over his face.

"What happened!?"

"We l-lost our s-squad leader. We're all alone n-now."

* * *

"The convoy's here! Everyone on me! We're getting the hell outta here! Let's go, let's go! Ramirez! The convoy is just to the south of Burger Town, get your ass over here! Move!" Sgt. Foley ordered.

Jenna came and told James to come with her, and gave him support as he hopped over to the Humvee. He took a seat in the back for once so she could fix up his leg.

Jenna wasn't paying attention to the radio convo, but did hear the last thing Foley said.

"Squad, we still got 2,000 civvies in Arcadia. If you got a family there, it's your lucky day - we're gonna go save their lives!"

"HELL YEAH!" she cheered as she checked her M4 lying next to her. She didn't have family there, but by God she'd get those damn Ivans out of their neighborhood.

* * *

Natalia took charge. Someone had to do it, the squad leader was dead. She walked up and looked the men around her, pointing in the direction of Arcadia.

"L-Listen up, guys. Nobody wants to be here at all. At least, w-well, I know I don't. But it's really not like any of us were given a choice," she stammered nervously. "So how about we just stick together and try our best to stay alive? So we can all go home when this is all over."

All right, she wasn't good at that kind of thing. It seemed to invigorate the guys, though. Nobody wanted to hear the motivational crap that was being spouted. Natalia's little speech wasn't the best, but at the rate the casualties were climbing, the entire invasion force would be dead within hours. Anything to keep the fighting spirit up.

Jenna could have sworn that she heard celebration over the sound of the convoy. Didn't matter, she had James to take care of.

* * *

**Another one bites the dust! Another one bites the dust! And another one gone and – all right I'll shut up. Did you expect Miss Petrova to have some kind of relationship with that pilot? Silly goose, everyone knows that main characters rarely have relationships with background characters unless they're part of some kind of tragic backstory or said character is using said relationship to their advantage… Anyway, it took four chapters just to finish the mission of Wolverines! but I'll just justify it and say that I used most of it for character development. I'm trying not to use too much game dialogue, so tell me if I do because I feel bad for making you read something that you can play in-game. Also, I have a few questions. How do you like the way I arrange switches between US and Russian POVs. Is it too confusing? Would you rather have me put one of those line thingies between each switch? I try not to do that if the same event is occurring on both sides simultaneously, but if it's an issue I'll gladly fix it. Also, would you prefer me referring to characters by first or last name? I like using first names to kind of give that essence of familiarity, but sometimes it's confusing when you hear someone's name outta nowhere and wonder who I was referring to. Finally, I like feedback. No, scratch that. I'm addicted to it. I want to hear from people so I can improve, y'know? Ignore me, I'm just a shameless review whore XD**

**Oh, and _yes, _the title of this chapter is a reference to "Face Down" by The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus.**


	5. Воздушно-десантные войска

_Воздушно-десантные войска_

_Earlier that year_

_Pvt. Natalia Petrova_

_Russian VDV_

_Russia_

* * *

_Natalia was a fresh recruit when the war broke out and she was deployed to the United States. She was drafted into the Russian military as soon as she was 18 years old, as per the conscription active ever since the Second Russian Civil War._

_In the aftermath of 2011's war, the Ultranationalist Party had successfully taken over Russia, despite incompetent leadership. Their leader, Imran Zakhaev, was killed by the British and Americans, and as a result they were hostile toward the West. The Party intended to challenge the US and its allies, but Russia wasn't at its best stage of power before the war, nonetheless after at least half of the entire country's military was destroyed. Military spending skyrocketed to a level rivaling the United States, but there was still a shortage of manpower. This is where conscription came in. The government drafted every capable 18-year old, whether they be male or female._

_Young Natalia Petrova had always dreamed of growing up and becoming a pilot. Anything involving flying. When the draft came about, when she was about 17 or so, she didn't think too much of it. After all, she could be a fighter pilot or something like that in the Russian military. As long as she didn't have to be on the ground fighting. Soon enough, however, her fortune turned for the worse._

_During the war, Ultranationalists managed to capture a major airbase early in their campaign. They had control over some of Russia's best aircraft. Even better, many pilots were children of former Soviet aces, and they were on the Ultranationalist side, hoping to restore Russia to its former glory. As a result, the air force was fine and didn't need any more recruits._

_When Natalia was 18, she was drafted into the military. She had hoped to join the Air Force, but she was absolutely devastated when they broke the news to her: they didn't need any more pilots. In fact, they had such an overload that most of them were attached to units with aircraft but low on manpower. So Natalia went for the next best thing she could find._

_Airborne._

* * *

Here she was, a brand new VDV private, and she even had the _telnyashka _(That light blue striped undershirt) and blue beret to prove it. On her 19th birthday, Private Petrova happened to be on leave. Proudly donning her urban red uniform (For some reason, they wore these with the blue beret), she went out to get _absolutely wasted _with her friends. Irresponsible, especially for a soldier off-duty? Definitely. Underage? Well, there was no drinking age in Russia. Still fun anyway. After all, her friends did it too.

As she strolled into her favorite bar, she was met by an interesting surprise. It seemed that plenty of Russian military servicemembers went there too. And of course, they noticed. In her class, she was that quiet blonde girl over there in the corner who no one talked to.

"Uhh, hey guys!" she awkwardly greeted.

"Pfft. Whatever," someone scoffed.

"Fuck off!"

"All right then…"

Natalia halfheartedly shuffled in, trying to seek her buddies. She found them eagerly waving her over. She felt her heart warm up a little bit. It made her feel wanted for once.

She and her friends got to work getting drunk. Well, at least her friends. Natalia was too goody-two shoes to drink. Well, Valentina was already slurring her speech, Diana was stumbling everywhere (and knocking over drinks left and right), and Anya…well, no one knew where she was, but a pair of legs were sticking out from under a pool table.

Diana ran right into some guy's face, making him fall back onto a nearby seat. Following the initial shock, a satisfied grin spread over his face as he pulled her onto his lap and began to make out.

His friend noticed and soon found himself jealous, being without company. The shy-looking blonde with the nice tits piqued his interest. He made his way over.

"Hey, cutie," drawled the guy, his breath reeking of alcohol. "Not gonna lie. I wanna drag you into the bathroom so I can hear what your voice sounds like when I fuck you into the tile."

"Gross, hell no! Let go of my hand, Yблюдок!" Natalia spat back. "Bastard!"

He forcefully pressed his lips against her mouth, practically jamming his tongue down her throat. His saliva tasted like absolute piss, and Petrova tried her hardest to shove him off.

"You're coming with me," he said, dragging her.

The intoxicated Russian soldier suddenly fell to the floor, writhing and screaming. He had just experienced the unpleasant sensation of a foot in the balls.

"What did you just do, сука!?" his friend from earlier, shouted as he pushed Diana off himself and slapped Natalia across the face. "Bitch!"

"All right, моргала выколю, падла!" she shot back, picking up a bottle and smashing it over the guy's head. "I'll poke your eyes out, fucker!"

Next thing, another person came behind her and twisted her arm behind her back, but before things got nasty, someone stood up on a table and fired a pistol into the air.

"All of you! Knock it off right now!" he grunted. "Or our asses will get thrown out of here!"

Everyone returned to what they were doing. But from that day on, pretty much everyone hated Pvt. Natalia Petrova because she assaulted the most popular guy's testicles for no apparent reason. Not like everyone didn't already despise the poor girl.

* * *

It was a few weeks later, and Natalia was on base, staying in the barracks. There was going to be a live-fire exercise that day. Basically, everyone would parachute from a plane, land, and proceed to storm and clear a building full of American infantry represented by cutouts. Of course, they weren't named as the US, but it was pretty obvious who the opposing force resembled.

The night before, that same popular guy, Peter Chernenko, tried to make a move again.

Natalia was sneaking out in the middle of the night for a bathroom break. She did a good job of not being caught until finding him standing outside the restroom door. She didn't know, but he found out that she was roaming around and swooped in on the opportunity.

"What the-"

Peter menacingly advanced, Natalia apprehensively backing up. She couldn't escape, having been backed into a wall. Chernenko rested his hand against the wall, leaning in to block her. The second she was about to call for help, he forcefully pressed his hand against her mouth to silence her pleas.

"Shh. Babe, I get what I want. Be quiet. Don't make me choke you with my dick to shut you up."

His request was met with a fist to the gut. Peter tried his hardest not to yell and wake up everyone. Holding up a middle finger, he retreated back to the men's barracks, swearing revenge.

The next morning, an alarm suddenly went on, signaling the start of the drill. Each paratrooper instinctively geared up and headed to their respective aircraft, separating into chalks.

It was becoming winter, and this being Russia, everyone's balls were beginning to freeze off. As a result, every body of water started forming a thin layer of ice, to the point it seemed solid, but in reality was paper-thin.

Natalia's plane shook from the wind. It was seriously chilly. The door was open, and everyone was waiting for their signal to jump. The aircraft was currently over a frozen lake, which was surrounded by a few soldiers just in case a jump went bad and someone ended up in it. Which was just about to happen.

Another friend of Peter's was standing behind Natalia, who would be first to jump.

"Bitch, I heard about last night! You should have just said yes!" he screamed in her ear.

"Huh!?"

He proceeded to hook her up to the static line and kick her out of the bird, her parachute immediately deploying.

"OH MY GOD! WHAT THE FUCK!?" she screamed as she fell from the aircraft, tumbling through the air.

She fell into the lake, getting tangled in her sopping wet chute, trying not to drown. Unfortunately, as she crashed through the ice, the cold water triggered her shock reflex, causing her to inhale a bunch of ice-cold lake water.

Natalia clawed at the surface, pleading for help as she felt like she was being dragged under. Never before had she felt as fearful for her life as she simultaneously drowned and froze to death.

_Please, I don't want to die like this…_

Her vision began to fade out as her efforts became more sporadic and increasingly sluggish. Just as she was about to let go, she felt herself being pulled out…

The medical personnel arrived to drag her out, and she ended up hospitalized for treatment. She had no idea, but the entire exercise had to be cancelled because that idiot Petrova jumped before getting to the insertion point.

Apparently, she wasn't too far from death. In those temperatures, reviving her would have been difficult. Had she lost consciousness sooner, she wouldn't have struggled at the surface long enough for the rescue team to help either.

Nobody at all felt any sympathy for her. And why would they? Most of them were kids who got drafted in, too. And being so young, all of them were manipulative and shallow as hell, betraying one another on a whim, building social statuses to hurt each other. Natalia was used to it. There was a reason why she didn't have many friends: because she avoided making them.

None of them belonged in something like the military. The government shouldn't have sent them off to fight a war.

* * *

**What's that, you may ask? "There's no combat or action in this chapter!" Well, _shut up._ No one asked for your opinion, jerkface. Anyway, we get to explore some of Pvt. Natalia Petrova's backstory because the author feels guilty for focusing on Jenna during the past chapters I need to establish that my characters aren't liked very much. Well, in Natalia's case, for no reason… yet. You'll see how she begins to deserve her treatment. Anyway, sorry if you didn't want a "drama" chapter, because these'll be part of the story too. Besides, they're kinda fun, aren't they? As usual, I like to hear your opinions because I'm a review whore because I really need to improve.**


	6. Firebase Phoenix

**So, I realized that Pvt. Jenna Moore is a combat medic, despite being pretty youngish. (20-21 years old or so.) So I panicked a bit, thinking that you had to be a doctor to be a medic in the US Army. Well, according to a bit of research, you just get advanced training after basic as opposed to having to go to medical school. If I'm wrong, correct me, mm'kay? Also, sorry for the lack of updates. School and stuff, you know? Finals coming up this week and I'm not looking forward to them. I'm going to negate the updates to weekly updates if you don't mind.**

**UPDATE: I just graduated, it's summer for me now. I have much more time to write. You know what that means, kids.**

* * *

_Cleaning Up the Sandbox_

_A few months ago_

_Pvt. Jenna Moore_

_US Army 3rd__Infantry Division_

_Afghanistan_

Jenna could have sworn that the US should have gotten out of Afghanistan when she was deployed there. However, after the Middle East got even nastier in 2011, Uncle Sam decided to play in the sandbox a bit longer. Basically, after Al-Asad's nuke went off and took out 30,000 men in the blink of an eye, the United States hit back hard… _real hard._ They decided to fight dirty, bombing what was left of the OpFor into bits and not giving a damn about collateral damage. Said OpFor ended up being supported by the Russians, and they retreated to nearby countries, and became a thorn in the side of NATO forces.

* * *

_Firebase Phoenix, Afghanistan_

Jenna squinted as she stepped off the C-130 Hercules, squinting at the harsh desert sun. She was a brand-new combat medic, part of the wave of women joining the military after Congress lifted the Combat Exclusion Act. The US Army Rangers wanted to test the waters a bit, and that started with getting a female medic into the unit.

So far, it wasn't working out that well.

"Hey, who's the new ho on base?" a soldier scoffed, his buddies snickering around him as he got up in Moore's face. "I see they're issuing hookers now."

"Great, the last thing we needed. A _liability_. Looking forward to having to haul your pretty little ass out of an ambush," another one spat.

Jenna tightened her fists. The last time someone said shit like that, he got an imprint of her knuckles in his jaw.

"Screw off, Allen," said one of the guys standing near him. "You want her to remember this when you get your dick blown off?"

"Ooh, look at the chivalrous Knight James Ramirez, sticking up for the maidens ever since he was 10. How many times did your ass get handed to you since then?" Allen spat, as he walked away with the rest of the men. "Anyway, my money says she'll get knocked up before the end of the deployment."

Ramirez shook his head and approached Moore.

"So, uhh, you're the new medic, right? No, that was a stupid question," he grinned, slapping his forehead. "Nice to meet you, I'm Private Ramirez, but you can just call me James. Looking forward to working with you, Private…"

"…Moore. Jenna Moore," she nodded back.

"Moore. Hey, I'm really sorry about Allen. He doesn't know when to stop sometimes. Pisses me off how much of an egotistical asshole he is."

Another figure walked up and put his arm around the man's neck.

"Aww, ain't that cute, Jim. You have a crush on the new girl. Oh… you must be Private Moore. I'm Corporal Dunn, I'm the tour guide for this dump," the newcomer introduced himself. "But it's not just any dump. It's _our _dump, which makes it better than the one the SEALs have.

"So, I was told to find a… S-Sergeant F-Foley?" Jenna stuttered, caught off guard by the Corporal's strange demeanor.

"He's busy. Showing Afghan soldiers how to _not _swing their sticks from the hip. That's his biggest pet peeve," Dunn replied. "Don't give me that look. By that I meant their weapons. Grinds our gears when we see these guys not using their goddamn sights."

As per the customs, the Corporal showed the newbie around the base. Past the range, where the Rangers show you how to take down a target in Pull-the-Trigger 101, the basketball court where future NBA players Keating and Casey were always playing, the motor pool (AKA "Pimp Your Humvee), and finally the Pit. Was it a bad GI Joe reference? Or possibly some guy with smelly armpits managed to kill the cutouts with his stench. No one knew why it was called that. Didn't make it an easy course to run.

"Aand… here we are. Foley wants you to run this bitch. Of course, he wants everyone to do it upon getting here, you know, show off their skills. He can see right through you, find your weaknesses, your strengths," Dunn concluded. He suddenly raised his voice. "Hey Mom! I can't believe you missed your own daughter's fuckin' birth!"

"All right, Dunn. I'll take it from here," an African-American man with a stern yet familiar voice called back. "Moore. I'm Sergeant Foley. And unlike some of the people who arranged your trip here, I think you got what it takes to fight with us. I know your reputation, but I'm sure we can put those behavioral issues aside for now. With that said, what I want you to do is take a weapon from each of those crates. A primary and a sidearm. You gotta learn that switching to your sidearm is faster than reloading your piece."

"Sir, you sound like Captain Anderson from Mass Effect," Jenna chuckled, sifting through the assorted weapons. Strangely, a good amount of them weren't standard issue.

"Looks like you're confused. There's a General in charge of a special operations task force-"

"Prima donna squad!" Dunn interrupted.

"…and the Rangers are part of the selection pool. But as far as I know, they ain't taking females in yet. I don't think it's a good idea when it comes to a sausage fest like the 141 anyway. They only take the best of the best."

Along with the selection of weapons were a collection of various attachments for them. Sights, scopes, grips, things of that sort.

"Take your time. I know that you grunts don't usually get issued these kinds of toys for your guns."

Jenna settled with the closest thing to the M4 she was accustomed to, the full-auto M4A1. Much of the standard furniture was replaced with an upgraded desert tan finish, along with rails adorning the carbine for accessories.

As for a sidearm, the usual M9 would do. And of course, the giant-ass thing wouldn't fit in her tiny hand. But a lot of men had the same problem anyway, not to mention that this was what she was used to.

"By the way, you got a lot of officers watching you right now. They're here to see how you perform. Don't disappoint, good luck."

She rounded the corner, readying her carbine. As she began to dash in, the slipped on a rock and hit her head against the wall. So much for a good start. Her vision a bit blurry, ears ringing, and a bit of unexplainable blood splatter all over her vision (she wasn't wearing goggles), she lifted her piece and engaged the first three targets, dropping two but managing to miss one. Frustrated, she ran up and kicked it over, and surprisingly, the hit registered.

"Nice one, move up!" a voice over loudspeakers encouraged.

The next batch had a civilian, and this stupid blood splatter was beginning to clear. Like, evaporate. Now with clear vision, Jenna sprayed the handful of targets, civvie included.

"Watch for civilians!"

"Sorry!" she apologized to the cutout, sprinting past.

The building full of enemies was easy to dispatch, but the stairs inside… well, those were going to be a problem. At the very top, a random bad guy popped out of the wall and smacked Jenna in the face, startling the private and making her tumble down the stairs.

"Damn blood splatter!" she snapped, yanking out her knife and throwing it at the target from the bottom of the steps. The mysterious red blocked her vision, and the knife bounced off and came to rest at her feet.

"Sonofabitch!"

A few snaps from the M9 knocked it back into place.

The roof was crowded, and popping off semi-auto shots wouldn't cut it. Jenna flicked the fire selector and took them down, taking care to hit the right targets this time. Going full-auto felt weird. Why didn't she have any kind of training in advance for this exercise?

Jenna jumped off the building and was faced with a whole corridor of targets. Instinctively, she got behind the nearest cover, put her M4A1 back on semi, and started tapping out shots. She wasn't used to close combat at all.

"Dammit," she cursed, yanking the mag out of her carbine and shoving a new one in.

"Moore! Move up! Don't dig in!"

The cutouts at the very end refused to pop up, indicating that she really had to advance to complete the course. She switched to her M9 and charged in, firing as she ran.

This run would have a bit of a twist, though. Usually, at the end, there's a part where the soldier sprints to the finish. However, this time, a collapsed soldier was lying on the ground. This was a test to see if the female soldier could get a male comrade to safety. Fortunately, Jenna was not like some of the other recruits, who couldn't even lift their weapons. She was fit enough to drag this guy into cover if needed, although she definitely wouldn't be able to carry him.

"All right, buddy, let's go," she mumbled, taking hold of the drag handle on his armor and throwing her weight back.

Back at the finish, she glanced at the timer on the wall and felt like the number was a bit too high.

"Damn, Moore," Foley murmured. "Sister. That was the longest run I've seen, _ever_…"

Jenna's heart sank. She sucked at being a soldier, and she didn't want to be kicked out and sent back to a regular ground-pounding unit.

"…but your job isn't primarily to pull triggers. It's to help out people, and that last part where you pulled Allen's sorry ass back to cover…" Foley trailed, cracking up and trying to hold himself up against the wall.

Embarrassment came over Pvt. Joseph Allen's face as Pvt. Moore looked back at him.

She definitely seemed like she could actually kick ass. Not only that, but she wasn't just _deployment hot, _she was _actually cute. _Combined with the first part, that kind of thing turned him on.

_Well... shit. This shouldn't be a problem for me, _he declared to himself, dusting himself off.

"See, look, she still managed to run the course successfully," one of the observing officers said, turning to another. "Nice try, bringing in one who wasn't the ideal candidate."

"I was done watching that debacle the second she slipped at the beginning. One unlucky mistake like that usually gets people killed. Of course a female fucked that up."

"This isn't over. You'll see. She isn't expendable, she will definitely be useful. I'm sure that a young woman like her is much more dangerous. By the time it's over, every man on this base will fear her. Your gender roles don't have a place here."

"Do you two ever shut up?" a third voice growled. "We're at war and yet you two are busy advancing political bullshit agendas. There's no room for people like you. We need those willing to do what's best for the country."

"Oh, Shepherd. Just remembered that you were here to find recruits for your task force."

"Yeah, male recruits only. I find that problematic."

"I will choose who I see fit for the 141. I think I know who I have my eye on already."

* * *

When things settled down and she settled in her tent, Jenna kicked back and pulled out her iPod, ready to relax.

Pvt. Allen came in without permission and plopped himself down in a chair across from her.

"Huh. Here to keep fucking with me?" she said, fiddling with a bobby pin. "I'm not afraid of beating the living hell out of you."

"Actually, no. I kinda wanted to say sorry for being such an asshole," Joseph admitted.

"Yeah? Tell it to the other guys. I've gotten way much grief all day long."

"Thing is... I'm not here to fuck with you," Allen said, taking off his regulation tan T-shirt and unzipping his pants. "I'm here to fuck you."

"Hell no! Get a step closer and you can consider yourself dead!"

"Moore. I'm so damn horny that I will bang your brains out even though I don't know your damn first name."

Of course, he had thought this out himself. Nothing would screw up his career like allegations of rape, especially the only goddamn female on base.

"How about this. I'll make the guys stop, does that sound good?" he offered.

"..."

He immediately but incorrectly took her silence as a sign of consent.

"You know," he continued. "It's hard getting access to any kinda booze on this base. But we manage. Compared to the stuff you get back in the States, sure it's crap, but I'm sure you'd be interested."

Jenna's eyes widened at the offer. She had no idea he was taking advantage of the fact that she was underage and very much curious.

"Well… I'd be willing to try some of that stuff…"

* * *

Allen got a good look of Jenna's crimson face as he shifted into position above her on the cot, floating over her bare chest.

"Christ, you're lightweight..."

Jenna squinted weakly back up, completely baffled. She had no idea what was going on at all, but hey, free sex.

"Just shut up," she mumbled. "Get it over with..."

* * *

Jenna awoke the next morning in a daze. What had happened the night before? It felt like some kind of weird dream, yet she was pretty sure that it really went down. After all, she didn't usually sleep in her underwear…

_That must have been an awkward night._

Orders came from above that they'd be going out to hunt the OpFor that day, and that it would be the beginning of multiple raids to eliminate them from the area outright.

The convoy consisted of a handful of Humvees heading into a nearby town to perform the usual routine of raiding houses suspected of being OpFor strongholds. It was relatively easy compared to the previous occupying force, the Taliban. At least the OpFor played fair and wore clothing distinct from their civilian counterparts.

Pvt. James Ramirez was up on the minigun and Jenna was down in the back seat. The ride was brief, but the ensuing firefight wouldn't be.

"Uh, Ramirez… gum?" Jenna offered, chewing on a stick and tugging on the gunner's pant leg.

"Sure thing. Thanks, Moore," Ramirez accepted, reaching down to take the piece she was holding up. "Haven't had this stuff in forever, man."

"Could I have some too?" the guy next to her, Wade, asked.

_Dammit._

The Rangers found themselves in the cramped alleys of the town, surrounded by buildings. After crossing a bridge a few minutes earlier earlier, they saw a couple of guards but didn't engage them due to the rules of engagement. They must have warned their colleagues down the line. As the Humvees passed an open field with a playground, an enemy soldier appeared with an RPG and blasted the vehicle at the front of the convoy.

"CONTACT!" the driver announced as everyone opened their doors and leaped out. Ramirez spooled up his minigun and provided precious suppressive fire as Moore scanned for injured. The driver, who proceeded to take his M4A1 and open fire, let out a grunt and crumpled to the ground. He had taken a couple of hits.

"Fucking ROE, always screwing us over!" she complained, making her way over to him.

The medic set to work on patching him up and keeping him behind cover. She wanted to shoot back, but all she had was her miserable little M9 handgun. Taking the rifle from the driver, she answered the AK47's chatter with the M4's bark.

"EAT THIS, BITCH!" she shouted, firing the M203 grenade launcher indiscriminately.

Pvt. Wade climbed up onto the Humvee, behind Ramirez, tapping him on the soldier and telling him, "Heads up. We're pulling out, we're gonna try and evac as many of us as we can before we're trapped in. They knew we were gonna hit their compound! Musta been one of the ANA guys who told them!"

"Hooah," he responded, getting off the gun to pass it on to Moore.

"Damn Afghan Army screwed us over too back at my own unit," she sighed.

The soldiers in the rear, still able to recover, began to get back in their Humvees, turn around, and drive away. Ramirez, Moore, and Wade all ended up in the same vehicle again.

"So much for being HUNTER 2-1, huh. More like prey," Ramirez deadpanned.

"_Seid ihr das Essen? Nein, wir sind der Jäger," _Moore quipped.

The short little exchange was interrupted, very rudely, by the bridge exploding behind them. The rest of the Rangers were trapped and needed to be bailed out before hostile forces closed in. The remaining troops had to switch out with more capable men if there'd be any chance of evacuating the guys left behind.

Upon arriving back at Firebase Phoenix, the Humvees parked anywhere they could find a spot and began bringing out their wounded. Jenna headed to the medical tent to assist in their care as fresh soldiers hauled ass to get BCT One out of the Red Zone.

"That ended a lot quicker than it started," Ramirez muttered to Wade as they went to the medical tent to check on a few buddies.

"So, you seem to be making friends with the medic," Wade said, stating the obvious.

"Y-Yeah. I kinda feel bad for her, considering the hell everyone's given her. Besides, I think she's actually pretty cool behind the whole _incompetent troublemaker _thing she's got going. I think she's more than that. You don't buy into that, do ya?" Ramirez turned his head, nodding. "Then again, it's all probably me being too soft. I was her at one point too, minus the whole slut-shaming thing everyone started the moment she showed up. I know how it feels to be that guy."

"Nah, I think she just doesn't wanna act like a delinquent or anything like at her old unit. People don't like that too much. But they still don't really like her anyway, so I don't see the difference there."

"Well, might as well be cool with the person who's going to plug the holes in your body."

"Yeah. Speaking of holes, um… I kind of want to, well…" Wade whistled and motioned with his index finger going into a ring made by his hand. "I wanna fuck her. Maybe it's the whole _desert fox _thing. When a soldier is in the sandbox and hasn't seen a gal for a while, he either does what Navy folks do, gets it on with the nearest thing he can get to a female, or is just a really good, pious Christian. Hey, can you put in a word for me?"

"Dude, no offense, that's really messed up. I don't really think she likes people taking advantage of her like that."

"Well, I'll just ask then. If not, well I have a _gun_," Wade grinned. "I'll get what I want. I heard that Allen pulled it off."

Ramirez, understandably pissed, shoved Wade into the dust. Not very common for him, being known as probably the most chill guy on base. He just never liked being picked on, and he didn't want that to happen to anyone else in his unit either.

"Yo, Ramirez, what the fuck?"

"Don't you dare try shit like that with her. I'll gladly pound your ass into the ground."

He narrowed his eyes.

"You know how I used to be when I first showed up."

Wade broke an unspoken rule made the first time Ramirez snapped a while back.

_Don't piss Ramirez off._

* * *

"No."

"What!?"

Jenna was sitting up against a Humvee, tapping the buttons and not looking up from her vintage Game Boy.

"Ramirez already told me what you'd be pulling."

She paused her game and nonchalantly reached into her nearby backpack, slid a shiny object over her fingers, stood up, and glared at Wade.

"I'm not sure if you've heard this, but I've taken down guys twice your size and with double the balls you have. If you wanna start shit with me, go on ahead. You're just another piece of garbage that needs to be taken out."

He backed off after that. Jenna merely returned to what she was doing before. Guys like that didn't usually back off that easy. They usually had enough ego to try and fight, but for some reason he didn't.

She understood the next day. People talked shit like usual, but on top of that, people kept coming to her and requesting her to sleep with them.

Go figure.

Wade probably told everyone that she had sex with him, further cementing her already nasty reputation. The rumors spread like wildfire. They didn't seem to know about Allen yet.

As soon as he caught the word, though, he started flaunting it as if it were some kind of damn achievement. He was the first (and actually the only) to get it, and he kept declaring that he took Moore's "deployment virginity."

"You son of a bitch!" Jenna snapped, one night coming across Allen.

She was just barely away from killing him on the spot as she held him by the shirt.

"I don't think Shepherd would want you to touch me," he said.

"Huh?"

"I hope you know where I'm going. Everyone's talking about it. He's pulling me for his task force and I leave tonight. You'll get into some shit if you try to fight me."

She let go.

"Whatever. I'm glad you're leaving. If I see your face around here again, I'll have your ass, mounted on a plaque on the front of the lead Humvee each time we go out on a convoy."

"Bye, Moore."

She didn't know that she really wouldn't see his face ever again, at least not in person.

* * *

**There goes a chapter. Took me a while to write. Jenna's a hoe, ain't she? No, just kidding. I didn't want my characters being perfect at all. Everyone has flaws, you know? Just tell me if I'm being too anti-Sue. Plus. Jenna's problem is a problem that female soldiers deployed can face and probably have faced before. I'm pretty fond of the ****_truth in television _****trope. Well, as usual I want to hear from you people. How you liked it, or more importantly, ****_why it's so damn terrible._**


	7. Exodus

**Sorry for not updating! I've been really _really_ busy lately. Instead of giving you guys a whole bunch of bad excuses I'll just write this thing, all right?**

* * *

_Exodus_

_August 13, 2016_

_Pvt. Jenna Moore_

_Attached to 1st Bn, 75th Rangers Regiment_

_Northeastern Virginia, USA_

The convoy had dropped off the Rangers so they could split up and accomplish various objectives. Jenna was tasked with going on the UH-60 Blackhawk helicopters evacuating civilians and providing medical attention to injured people. Sgt. Foley, Cpl. Dunn, and Pvt. Ramirez, whom she would otherwise be fighting beside, had a different mission to carry out. They had to take out anti-aircraft artillery that threatened Moore and the evac choppers.

Ramirez was busy lasing targets for Honey Badger, a Stryker IFV, to engage. He noticed a civilian car driving madly down the road towards the Rangers, dropping its cargo, running over a few people (Rangers and Russians alike) and finally hitting a barricade, inexplicably exploding.

_I don't think physics works that way, _Ramirez thought as he pointed his laser at another target and ordered the Stryker to open fire.

* * *

Pvt. Natalia Petrova had rallied the remnants from the attack earlier and met up with the Russian forces whose aim was to prevent evacuations of American civilians. Upon the brass hearing of how she took leadership of her fellow green colleagues, they decided to give her a field promotion to a Corporal.

Something about it seemed wrong. Stopping them from getting innocents to safety was absolutely detestable. But killing people was pretty much the primary goal of the invasion anyway.

Natalia listened intently on the radio to figure out where she could set up an ambush. The Americans probably were trying to get to the anti-aircraft positions so the evacuations could actually make it out of the area.

"Be advised, any units in the AO. This is Tiger 4-1, we are taking heavy casualties from an armore- DAMMIT GET DOWN GET DOWN!" Natalia heard. Another voice replaced the first, the person on the other end probably was hit and his comrade got a hold of the radio.

"Listen up, whoever's out here, we have a Stryker armored vehicle and some hostile soldiers assaulting our position. Anyone who can hear this, they are heading east and if they manage to get past us then there will be no one between them and our AA."

"Tiger 4-1, Tiger 4-1, this is Poacher 3-1. My unit is available and we can provide support," Petrova responded.

"Negative, 3-1. We can't hold this position much longer, you'll be too late anyway. We're falling back to security checkpoint _Leonid. _If you can meet us there we'll be damn grateful."

"Roger that, Tiger 4-1. We have possession of a sentry gun and can assist you, over."

She turned to the men standing around. She took out a map and explained the half-assed plan she threw together.

"We're going to meet up with Tiger 4-1 at this checkpoint. There, we can intercept the enemy Stryker team and stop them from killing our AA. Got it?" Natalia said.

_Why the hell would they even trust me to do shit like this? I'm a goddamn grunt! They just promoted me and expect to come up with stuff on the spot?_

* * *

Jenna hit her head on the Blackhawk chopper for the fifteenth time. The crew kept taking fire from Ivan's double-A and as a result had to make some really violent maneuvers to not get shot down. In fact, the two other evacuation choppers were taken out already, chopping down the capacity of people they could rescue.

"Geez, hope Foley gets rid of those damn guns already, no telling how many concussions we'll get today," Jenna complained.

"Heads up Moore, we're landing at evac site Delta. We have some injured there who take priority," the crew chief nodded.

The pilot expertly guided the helicopter to the makeshift landing zone as Jenna jumped out. Barely anyone made it to the evacuation zone, and it was pretty depressing.

"All of you are injured?" she asked the small crowd.

"Moore, we can't take that many," the crew chief frowned. "Get the most severely injured person here, we need to dust off soon."

Jenna flashed a shit-eating grin and said "Screw off. I volunteer to stay down here and help out until the next chopper comes by. Go radio HQ for a CH-47 Chinook."

She turned to the civilians.

"All right, anyone here who _isn't_ hurt, I need you to get on that helicopter there so you can get out alive."

"What are you doing, Private!?"

"You don't understand triage... do you? It's obvious everyone here is injured, but nobody seems to have had it that bad. Otherwise, they wouldn't have made it. I can take care of them myself. But it's a better idea to fly out the people who have the best chance of survival, sir."

A young couple stepped up, apparently the only people who weren't physically affected that much. "We'll go, ma'am."

Pvt. Moore waved as the UH-60 took off and headed for base. It was good to know that some people were making it out aliv-

The aircraft's tail rotor burst with a **BOOM! **and spiraled out of control, crashing into a house a few buildings away and exploding into a fiery wreck, smoke billowing from it. The crash was visible from the evac station. Jenna quickly advised the civilians not to look, but they just stared in awe, gaping. Pretty much everyone was dying, and an eerie air of hopelessness came over the station.

"No…" Jenna whimpered, her voice trailing off. The anger swelled in her chest, coming out in an outburst that in hindsight wasn't appropriate for the kids nearby. "SONS OF BITCHES, THEY'LL PAY! I'LL FUCKING RIP THEIR COCKS OFF AND CHOKE THEM WITH 'EM, EACH AND EVERY ONE!"

She collapsed to the ground, breaking into tears.

No, she couldn't do that. She couldn't show weakness around the civilians. She was supposed to be a person they could count on, someone to look up to in the darkness. The digital uniform was definitely bright enough to be that light.

_Well, guess that's why I wear it._

"Ladies, gentlemen! I'm Private Jenna Moore, US Army Rangers!" she declared, choking back her emotions. "I promise all of you that I WILL get you out of here safe! You can count on that!"

She turned towards the sight of the burning house, the chopper's fuselage poking out.

"I'd bet my life on it."

* * *

"Sentry gun is active!" a Russian engineer shouted. Cpl. Petrova and her men had set up at the checkpoint just as the Stryker was approaching. The gun spooled up and sent lead flying towards the Rangers trying to thin them out. Natalia spotted a guy who didn't get dropped by the sentry and fired a few rounds into his face.

"Aww crap, they're pushing us back!" a soldier panicked. He decided to turn around and run away.

"Hey, Petrova! Deserter, what are you doing about it?" a sergeant yelled. "Well? You going to shoot him?"

"Hell no, that's not happening, sir!"

He took his own weapon and thrust the barrel into Natalia's neck, growling, "Do it. Not one step backwards."

Not really having a choice, she raised her handgun and killed the deserter. While all of this happened, the Rangers had cleared the nearby buildings and were ready to move through the checkpoint. Ramirez pointed his laser at both Natalia and her superior and ordered the Stryker to open fire.

Noticing the red dot on Cpl. Petrova's face, the sergeant leaped in the way of the bullets and pushed Natalia down as the .50 caliber rounds tore right through the concrete barrier, his body armor, his torso, and his organs. Of course, the bullets plowed on and came out the other side of the mangled corpse. The armored vehicle then proceeded to drive right through the checkpoint.

"Dammit! Guys, hurry up and RPG that asshole!"

A barrage of rockets flew at the IFV, pounding it into a smoldering hunk of metal.

"Honey Badger is down, I say again, Honey Badger is down!" Sgt. Foley shouted as the burning crew pounded on the walls, screaming. "Be advised Overlord, we have passed Checkpoint Lima and are now proceeding on foot into Arcadia, how copy?"

"Solid copy, Hunter 2-1. I have new orders for you. This comes down from the top, over," Overlord replied.

"Overlord, send it."

"Your team is to divert to 4677 Brookmere Road after you have eliminated the triple-A. Check back with me once you've completed your main objective."

"Busting our ass to get these guns, now we got to do this?" Dunn complained.

"Too right, Corporal."

What looked like an AC-130 suddenly went down in flames and crashed in the general area of the address they were given.

"Hey, look. I bet that's an AC-130, man," Dunn said.

"No way. They don't fly during the day, that sucker's a C-130," Ramirez corrected him.

"Po-tay-to, po-tah-to. Let's just get this over with."

* * *

Jenna, with a dose of determination and a can of Monster a teenager offered, had taken control of the entire evac situation, bringing out civvies whenever the AA was busy with some other aircraft. She noticed a C-130 go down and had gotten the last few people out on a CH-46 Chinook in that short window of time when the guns weren't killing civilians. Wait. What happened to the guns anyway? They weren't going off that much anymore.

An MH-6 Little Bird landed, and a few special ops guys stepped off. They were donning Multicam and looked like they were Tier 1 operators.

"Wait, I didn't request a Little Bird… there aren't any more civvies."

One of them approached, pulling down his balaclava and taking off his goggles. Jenna thought he was really cute… What the hell? No time for that.

But those eyes of his… they were a shade of blue that… _why was the sky trapped in his eyes?_

"You Private Moore?" he asked as she nodded. "I'm 'Frost,' Metal 0-4, Delta Force. Listen, your buddies helped the artillery kill the AA, you need to rendezvous with them ASAP, so we're giving you a ride."

"Why are you guys the ones bringing me in, sir?"

"Uhh," he stuttered, scratching the back of his neck. "I'll put it this way, we're the most… conveniently available at the moment. That, and we have business where you're going. I'll explain."

"Come on, we gotta dust off! Frost, she doesn't wanna give you her number you dipshit, hurry up and get on!" a soldier, presumably his teammate, jeered from the Little Bird.

Frost blushed a bit (well, underneath the mask he pulled back up) and brought Jenna to the chopper. As they hovered away, she could see a couple of Humvees pull up, both soldiers and the civilians they rescued. At least there was some hope.

* * *

Pvt. Kozin was quite winded. He had, after all, had to sprint his ass to the wreckage of the C-130 before the Americans did, like he was ordered. So, opening the fridge in the house he was in, he grabbed a carton of milk and tried to pour it through his gas mask. Milk all over the place. When that didn't work, he started to pry it off.

He never got it off.

The Rangers had already arrived, and quickly shot him down. Dunn snickered a bit.

"No crying over spilled milk…"

He suddenly heard someone walk behind them. He whipped around and pointed his M9 at the unknown person, saying, "Drop it, BITCH!"

Jenna stepped back, her arms instantly raising in the air. "Geez, Dunn, it's just me. Calm your nips."

"Moore! It's nice to see you, but we need to check on this HVI. Challenge is 'Icepick,' countersign 'Phoenix,'" Foley whispered, stepping up.

Upon moving upstairs, something was evidently wrong. A tattooed Russian soldier lay dead at the door to the panic room, and the HVI himself slumped at the back of the room with a Desert Eagle and a briefcase. As Moore checked the bodies, Ramirez checked out the surroundings. A chessboard on a table with a teddy bear in one seat caught his eye.

"Huh. King's in checkmate, the bear won," he muttered.

"Yo, Dunn, Foley. Look at this guy. He's out-of-place if you ask me," Moore said.

"Yeah, those tats mean he's no average soldier. No insignia either," Dunn replied, eyeing the corpse.

"I want photos for G2, Dunn. Ramirez, get that briefcase. What's left of it," Foley ordered. "Overlord. The HVI is dead."

* * *

Natalia once again found herself in charge of remnants. The Rangers were the enemy, but she had to give them credit. They kicked ass.

A couple of soldiers had deserted as a result, and her misfit unit was basically brushed off by command and told to investigate an American plane knocked out of the sky. Some shit about an HVI and intel.

"All right, get on your feet. Command wants us to hump our way to this house. You can't miss it, there's a huge-ass aircraft on fire in front of it," she told her troops.

Natalia was quite frustrated. What the hell were they thinking, putting a Corporal in charge? She didn't know how to lead.

Finally at the house, the soldiers not-so-expertly cleared it as Cpl. Petrova strolled through the house, looking into rooms and whatnot. They noticed a Spetsnaz guy dead at the fridge with an empty carton of milk in his hand.

Natalia went upstairs and immediately froze upon the sight she saw. The door to a panic room was ajar and another soldier was dead in front of it, already attracting flies. The maggots, thankfully, weren't there yet. Inspecting the corpse, she thought she recognized some aspect of him. No, not the tattoos. His face was familiar.

It finally hit her. She fumbled around her vest a bit, pulling out a small envelope with a handful of photos in it. Sliding them out she began to file through them, and found the one she was looking for. It was a photo of one of the terrorists suspected in the Zakhaev International Airport Massacre, named Viktor.

"Found you, asshole," she muttered.

Peering inside the panic room, she noticed another body slumped at one of the walls. This one was probably American. She bent down and picked up a Desert Eagle the man had in his hand and inspected it. It would definitely go for a pretty penny if she sold it sometime, so she decided to take it herself.

Why did she hear gunshots going off downstairs?

"Ma'am! Get down, we have Americans in the house!" a soldier shouted, coming inside and gesturing outside the door.

"Get back out there and kill them yourself!"

"Y-yes ma'am."

He stepped back out and closed the door. The corporal locked it for good measure.

_BANG! BANG!_

The muffled sound of more shots and the _thump _of a body hitting the wall and sliding down could be heard from within the panic room. Natalia nervously pointed her AKS-74 toward the entrance.

The door suddenly was kicked down and a handful of men filed in as she dropped the gun and immediately raised her hands in the air. Surrendering? What was she thinking?

"On the floor!" one of them yelled in Russian.

She recognized them immediately. Multicam uniforms, facial hair, advanced helmets, light vests, and unfamiliar weapons, the telltale signs of JSOC soldiers. Were they Navy SEALs? No, they wear different uniforms. Definitely Delta Force.

"Do you speak English?" the Delta soldier inquired.

"Да. I-mean, yes!" Natalia responded.

Dammit, why did she say "da" instead of "yes!?" She learned how to speak English when she was younger, and spent years perfecting it to the point where she was pretty fluent. She busted her ass to learn it, and she said "da" instead of "yes."

"You're coming with us, then," the man responded, forcing her to the ground as another soldier ziptied her. Interestingly enough, the guy cuffing her wasn't as rough as she had expected. Instead, he gingerly put them on, as if he was trying to be polite about taking a POW.

They took her out of the house, where a helicopter was waiting. Everyone got on and she was put in a seat where everyone could watch her.

"Sorry about this," the soldier whispered as he inserted a needle into her arm, putting her to sleep.

He returned to his seat and sat down, taking off his mask and helmet, sighing with relief. War was a tiring job, after all.

"When they gave us intel they were moving in on this place, I thought we'd snatch some Spetsnaz badass. Didn't expect this pretty little gal. I would tap that – no, I would _double tap _that. You, Frost?" asked the soldier sitting next to him. He wore a light chest rig, a ballcap, and a pair of sunglasses as opposed to the heavier gear everyone else had.

Frost remained silent.

"Ah. You having dirty daydreams about that Moore chick?"

"Man, Grinch, look who's talking! You're the one who wants to bone the POW, you sick pervert!" an African-American guy called from the opposite seat. He was cradling an LMG, and his emotions were actually noticeable due to his lack of eyewear.

"Grinch, there's no need for this kind of conduct, especially involving a prisoner. And Truck… stop trying to start shit with Grinch! Why can't you two be like Frost?" their commander, Sandman, scolded. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he was essentially a mom in charge of a bunch of rowdy kids who played army.

"Naww, it's fine, Boss. If they were like me, they would have girl troubles too," Frost joked.

* * *

_Derek Westbrook was his real name, and he was a Sergeant. He got the name Frost when he first ended up alongside Team Metal, and didn't quite warm up to them quickly enough. It took a while to earn his trust, but the name stuck._

_When the military started reforms during the Russian Civil War, they didn't just focus on getting female soldiers into combat arms roles. There was a calling for more special operations members after the brass noticed their effectiveness during the war. However, there was a shortage of volunteers. After all, no one wanted to go and fight after the nuke killed so many troops._

_The rules were bent – yet again. This time, the minimum age to apply to Delta Force was lowered from 22 to 18. However, the standards were still the same._

_Derek wanted to do something with his career. He didn't want to be a plain grunt, cannon fodder to be thrown at the enemy. (For this reason, he resented General Shepherd as a commander.) Instead, he wanted to be the best of the best, and the opportunity to join Delta Force was too awesome to pass up. He applied, hoping that he could actually succeed. The odds were against him, being barely into his 20s without any special operations experience._

_He pushed his hardest… and nearly failed. The selection process for Delta was made to root out not only unfit material, but also the "Gray Man" who merely met the standards instead of rising above them. Westbrook was nearly that Gray Man, if not for his exceptional shooting, which barely pushed him out of that zone. Thus, he ended up making selection anyway._

_Westbrook didn't expect that he would be sent on any ops any time soon, especially because didn't feel as if he were good enough to legitimately get into Delta Force anyway. Instead, his superiors made him train harder so he technically was up to standards._

_Well, the US ended up going into Afghanistan yet again and he was more or less forced into Team Metal (who was one man short) and began operations._

_The Tier 1 Alpha Unit rotated out of the sandbox about a month before the Russian invasion and in turn was readily available to participate in the defense._

_For all intents and purposes that was how Frost managed to encounter two certain people he would be seeing a lot of in the near future._

* * *

**Bleh. One 3000+ word chapter. I think it turned out all right, considering how I had some trouble getting ideas for it. I really don't want this fanfic being a recap of the MW2 campaign. Oh yeah, I forgot, I'm introducing Frost from MW3 as a character in this fic. You won't know what his role will be other than Jenna's crush. Heck, you might not even see him again! Nah, that's not convincing at all, considering I took a few paragraphs to give him a backstory. But keep reading and somewhere down the road you'll see where this all comes together. Trust me, I have this _sorta_ planned out. Hope you guys are enjoying this. Woo.**


	8. Redacted

**Before you guys read this brand new chapter OF DEATH go check out Call of Duty: Homefront by Hawk-Eye-33. It's a SYOS (Submit Your Own Soldier) fic. Not only am I asking you to check it out because the one and only Jenna Moore happens to be a character there, but the concept sounds awesome (I mean CoD and Homefront. It's like peanut butter and jelly) too, and the fic deserves plenty of support. Of course, other people have submitted their OCs, once I find out who, I'll tell you guys to support them too. Hope this link works.**

**s/10384169/1/Call-of-Duty-Homefront**

**Anyway, here is your chapter.**

* * *

_Operation [Redacted]_

_Cpl. Natalia Petrova_

_Status: P.O.W._

_Russian VDV_

_Undisclosed safehouse, USA_

Natalia awoke in a dimly-lit room, unaware of where she was or what the hell was going on. Yawning, she tried to cover her mouth only to realize she was handcuffed. Still.

Oh yeah, that's what happened. She was captured by American Special Forces last time she checked. Looking around, she could barely make out a few objects – odds and ends such as a car battery with jumper cables, a bucket of water, a speaker…

Meanwhile, Derek "Frost" Westbrook and his partner "Grinch" were waiting outside the room waiting for Petrova to wake up. There was a camera watching the HVI 24/7. A green light next to the door lit up.

"Frost. Sleeping Beauty's awake. You know the drill, you're good cop, I'm bad cop. Let's get this over with, shall we?" Grinch muttered, opening the door and walking in. "Good morning, bitch. What did you do to get in here?"

"Соси Хуи," Natalia retorted.

"I don't think you should take him too personally, love. But on the other hand, telling him to 'suck a cock' isn't very kind either," Frost said somewhat charmingly.

If there was one thing he could use to his advantage, it was his apparent charisma.

Cpl. Petrova didn't fall for it. She knew he was just trying to win her over, after all. Plus, something about him reminded her of that asshole Peter.

"Pardon me, I believe I forgot to introduce myself. You can call me 'Frost,' and he's 'Grinch.' And you?" Frost politely asked.

"Natalia Petrova. Corporal," she replied flatly. She immediately realized that she sounded an awful lot like that Pvt. Morgan she and Vik interrogated and executed a while back…

"So, Corporal. Now that we know each other, how about we–"

"Cut the bullshit, Frost. Petrova, you've seen shit at that house that we need to know about. How about you tell us all about it?" Grinch interrupted.

_Bend over, here it comes, _Natalia thought.

* * *

"…then this couple comes up and volunteers to fly out. They were young and I'm sure they were engaged recently. Well we got them onto the Blackhawk and tried to fly them out, then the tail gets hit and they went down. It's so fucked up, I don't know what to think of this war anymore, James. I thought the Russkies were people just like us, but they seem hell-bent on killing every civvie we try to rescue…" Pvt. Jenna Moore trailed off, tears forming in her eyes.

The Rangers had returned to their base and were trying to recover from the heavy losses they endured. Jenna herself was worn out as hell, being a medic and all. The injured poured in by the dozens each second. She just couldn't forget the incident at the evac site, either. Fortunately, she had Pvt. James Ramirez to turn to as a friend.

"…but I guess it's what happens, right? Besides, everything wasn't completely bad," she sniffled.

"Really? What kind of good could possibly happen?" James replied.

"Well, you saw how those Delta guys dropped me off to meet up with you guys?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I– uh, I dunno. I got to talk a bit to one of them," she said, her eyes lighting up.

"By 'talk,' you mean that he gave you orders, right?" James teased, rolling his eyes.

"H-hey! That's not the point. I think… I think that I might be in love with the guy."

"Seriously?" James asked. "You know it, _love at first sight _is bullshit."

He didn't want to admit it, but he was a little jealous. Ever since Jenna showed up on base in Afghanistan he had a crush on her. He didn't understand how she chose Allen, with his jerkass, over him, with his general kindness. What ever happened to the karma system? He knew it wasn't like he had a right to her, but it seemed so unfair.

"I mean, coming from you! Who has the rep for recklessly sleeping with guys on base again?" he angrily snapped.

He could see from the way she turned away and looked at the ground that he hurt her feelings, and he immediately apologized.

"I'm so goddamn sorry, that was really uncalled for. I didn't mean to be so rude, Jenna. What I was trying to say is how do you know you even like the guy?"

"I haven't really felt this way before. Like, all the people I've been with, I really couldn't give two shits about. But this guy, I could see it in his eyes. He's different," Jenna spoke.

"Oh. You know, I still haven't heard his name," James responded.

"Whoops, sorry. I don't know his real name, but he went by 'Frost.' Maybe they call him that because he's real stoic, but he seemed more entrancing," Jenna answered.

"Oh, come on, you're in love with this Prince Charming and you don't even know his _name?_"

"Screw off."

* * *

That so-called prince was interrogating someone at the moment.

"I'm not talking, I thought you'd pick up on that, Yankee," Natalia sneered.

"Okay, that's cool with me. But my friends beg to differ," Grinch grinned sadistically, pointing at his torture devices. Slamming a car battery on a nearby cart, he inquired, "Ever stick your finger in a light bulb socket as a kid?"

"What are you planning on doing with that?"

"Geez, you aren't as sharp as we thought, blondie," he taunted as he tapped the jumper cables together, the sparks crackling wildly as they sprinkled to the floor.

He quickly clamped them around her wrists, and she instantly winced in pain. Natalia tried to resist it, but of course the electricity was too overwhelming. Frost winced at her cries of pain, which echoed throughout the room.

"Care to talk?" Grinch asked, detaching the cables.

Natalia breathed raggedly, unable to speak.

"Very well," he said, reattaching them.

"Dude, that's enough, ask some actual questions now," Frost butted in a few cycles later. This was all part of the act.

"Frost, fuck off."

Then he detached the cables from the battery and shoved Grinch away, saying, "I'm sure you've tortured this girl plentifully. You're done, got it?"

"Fine. Fine."

"Now that he's done shocking you to within an inch of your life, I'll ask you nicely. What were you looking for at the house?" Frost said, turning to Natalia.

She wasn't conscious of it, but she was giving in to the act and willingly answered to Frost.

"Intel, something like that. HVI."

"Good, now we're making progress," Frost smiled.

Natalia immediately noticed that she had given in. She resolved that she wouldn't do that again.

"Now, onto the next question. What exactly... _did_ you find there?"

Silence.

"All right, Grinch, you know what to do. Sorry, darling, but the less you say the more pain you'll get," Frost said, turning around.

Grinch rolled up a cart with a giant speaker on it, and positioned it next to Natalia's chair. He proceeded to plug in an ancient-looking iPod and casually scroll through the playlist. Even the clicks pounded heavily against Natalia's ear.

"I could have sworn I told Truck to put some Nickelback on here," Grinch remarked.

"Calm down Satan," Frost said back.

"Are you a fan of death metal?" Grinch then asked his prisoner. "We sure are, you might be too. But by the time we're done with you, next time you hear it you'll shoot yourself in the head."

Both of the soldiers put on their ear protection and started the music.

"OH GOD!" Natalia screamed at the top of her lungs, the blaring noise drowning out her voice.

She felt deprived of all of her senses, and even her thoughts were lost in the song.

"ALL RIGHT, STOP, JUST STOP IT PLEASE!" she pleaded desperately.

Frost yanked out the cord and walked towards the dazed Russian. She looked absolutely adorable, her head wobbling and her eyes focused on some arbitrary point in space, blinking rapidly. So vulnerable… half of him felt bad for doing this. But the other half enjoyed it, got high off of the feeling.

"Uhh… can you hear me?" he asked, tilting his head and waving his hand in front of her face.

She didn't respond at all, leading to his correct assumption that she was temporarily deaf.

The two interrogators went out of the room as a solitary guard stepped in to keep watch.

A few minutes later, they entered again with a table and a tray.

Grinch set up the table and Frost dropped the tray on the surface. Natalia couldn't tell what was in it at all due to a cover on top of it. She found herself uncuffed.

"Thank y–" she tried to say, but they were already gone.

She opened the container, nervous of what was inside. All that was on it was assorted food. Steak, vegetables, a little bit of bread, and a few slices of cheese. An unopened can of Coca-Cola sat in the corner of the tray. The aroma was extremely enticing.

It was tempting, but she was told all about how Americans treated prisoners, and to be wary of their "food." Their meat was maggot-infested, the bread stale, and the cheese filled with mold. The drinks were occasionally laced with laxative, also.

Poking through the meat, there were no fly larvae at all. She ripped off a small piece of bread and it was actually fine. The cheese was completely safe. As for the Coke, those were sealed at the factory, and there would have been signs of tampering.

Natalia was absolutely starving and decided to consume the meal before her, and it was one of the best things she had ever tasted in her life. Why wasn't it as terrible as she had expected?

Her interrogators returned, and she actually heard them this time.

Frost chuckled and said, "So? How was some of the best food the US military could offer? Amazing, right?"

Petrova caught herself smiling and nodding and aptly ceased her excited behavior. Why did this guy make her feel so comfortable? She almost felt safe around him.

"Yeah, better than the shit MREs we get."

"It's good to hear you've enjoyed your grub and recovered from that music, but we still need to get some info out of you," Frost continued, the smile fading from his face.

"No more Mr. Nice Shit!" Grinch snapped, kicking Frost in the balls and dropping his limp body on the ground, which pulled into a fetal position. "All right, you dirty Russkie whore. You're going to tell me what I wanna hear."

He pushed the empty tray and the coke can off the table and slammed down the bucket and towel. Natalia immediately recognized what was going to happen: good old-fashioned waterboarding. Something inside her clicked, and she immediately remembered almost drowning in the cold waters after her jump training incident.

"No, no! Not that! Anything but that! Please!" she begged.

Grinch was surprised. This girl survived two ass-kickings from the Rangers, and in interrogation both got shocked and deafened. Water was her weakness?

Frost got up, clutching his abdomen. He tried to talk, but couldn't. Slapping Grinch on the back, he proceeded out of the room and slumped against the wall. It was all an act, but _damn _that hurt.

"The man in the suit. Who killed him?" Grinch asked.

"I-I have no idea! He was dead when we got there! We found one of the terrorists..." Natalia gulped, still trying to catch her breath.

"Terrorists?"

"...one of them, from the airport attack. Viktor. It seemed like other people were there before us."

_Just as I thought, _Grinch mused. _Nothing new that the Rangers didn't already see. So sending us in really was fucking pointless._

"Fine. I have one more thing to ask for the day. Anything else you know at all?" Grinch inquired.

"Nothing at all! I promise," Natalia replied obediently.

"Never mind. Do you know what happened to the unit you originally deployed with? Where they are? Their objective?"

"No, I was separated from them. Command decided to assign me to a different one, which ended up engaging the Rangers."

"Where is your base of operations?"

"I have no idea. I'm a fucking Corporal, not some kind of high-ranked officer."

Grinch punched her in the gut, growling, "Don't give me that kind of attitude, you worthless shit. Anyway, we're done with you for now. Congratulations."

He exited the room and met Frost, who high-fived him immediately.

"Well, I think it worked. She'll see me as the good interrogator here on out. Next time, please don't nutshot me. I think my future kids felt that…" Frost greeted with a grin.

"Yeah, yeah, Frost. In other news, I don't think she's worth our time. None of that shit was worth our time. The chick's not that dangerous. Just got caught pants-down trying to catch an HVI who was long-dead," Grinch responded. "We shouldn't have even bothered. Why did they think that we'd find anything the Rangers didn't already know?"

With that, Grinch walked away.

There wasn't much left to squeeze out of her. But Frost really wanted to hear her story. She was too timid to be one of the hundreds of other Russians who came to do nothing but shoot down innocents in the streets. Something about her…

* * *

_Frost entered the room alone, and upon the sight Natalia averted her eyes fearfully._

_"Relax. I'm not here as your interrogator anymore. That was just my job, all right? Please, don't be scared of me."_

_He pulled up another chair in front of her and sat on it, gazing into her innocent eyes._

"_See? I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to get to know you."_

_Natalia was a very distrustful person, considering the pain she endured at the hands of others. But this Frost guy made her feel like opening up. She wasn't even sure why she trusted him._

_"Here, I'll even take off the mask and stuff."_

_He definitely didn't look like she expected, that was for sure… but he was definitely handsome, and had they met on the streets of her hometown, Natalia might have even considered asking him out. Of course, not that she would have gone ahead with it._

_"I grew up being the shy girl. Nobody was interested in me, and anyone who was pretty much lost interest and threw me away at some point. I always spent my time alone, but I didn't mind living quietly at all."_

_Frost nodded, it seemed to line up. The military didn't seem to completely rid her of that personality._

"_I was drafted into the military at 18. I had once dreamed of being a civilian pilot in the United States at one point, actually. That's why I can speak English. I tried becoming a pilot, but instead I ended up in the closest thing, which was airborne."_

"_Now, I just wanna know. Why were you so afraid of the water torture?"_

"_There was a popular soldier who I will refer to as 'Peter.' He always tormented me, for no reason, really. Peter really wanted to get in my pants."_

_"What a bastard. You know, boys here in the States aren't much different either," Frost sighed._

"_The first incident, I was at a bar with my friends. He was drunk and after I refused to do it with him, he attempted to drag me into the bathroom and force it. So I kicked him in the… what do you call them? Balls? Balls. His friend hit me and we almost fought if it weren't for our CO stopping it all. And of course, everyone hated me for it. They hated me in the first place."_

_Frost just couldn't help but feel pissed. Fucking scumbags like that… he didn't have a right to an opinion on the subject, but how could they treat someone like her like that?_

"_Another night he caught me at the restrooms at night, nearly forced me. Punched him in the gut. Next day on a jump, he pushed me out of the plane early. I fell into icy water and nearly died."_

"_Is that why you were afraid?"_

"_Yes sir."_

_Frost saw the pain in her face when she described the incident. She experienced traumatizing shit, even way before she set foot onto the battlefield…_

_"And for the whole invasion, everyone was dying around me. I lost my cousin in the process. That's why I had to stand up and do something – I was tired of seeing the bodies of my friends piling up in the streets. Now I'm here, and hell knows what will happen to me."_

"_Natalia, look at me. You don't have to worry about any of that at all. We're planning on releasing you soon."_

"_Releasing?"_

"_Yes. You want to go home too, right? We're humans also. We want to go home and see our families… that is, if they aren't dead at this point. You don't deserve this shit. None of us did."_

_She couldn't believe it. This American was being way too kind to her for it to be real, yet there was no reason why he would be lying._

_At this point, she'd been up for days, and her sanity was slipping from that combined with the psychological torture. She wasn't thinking straight at all._

_She lunged at Frost, too quickly for him to draw his sidearm._

_Grinch promptly kicked down the door and put her in the sights of his secondary, finger on the trigger and ready to kill her._

_He lowered his weapon when he saw that she was crying into Frost's shoulder._

_Hugging him._

* * *

Jenna lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling. She felt somewhat better about the evac site incident, but the only thing on her mind was Frost.

_Frost._

He didn't have the same demeanor or appearance as the other Delta guys. She found him perfect, absolutely perfect the way he was. He didn't have that "tough guy" act, unlike the rest. He wasn't extremely buff, he was clean-shaven. And his enchanting electric blue eyes made her freeze, piercing her to the core. She wasn't sure how to describe it without being cliché.

"Frost" suited him well. Heck, he could be anyone's crush had he not been wearing a uniform. The military wasn't as female-heavy as the civvie world. And no woman save Jenna was in special operations, making her encounter with him that more special. Maybe she was the only person who ever fell in love with him, at least the only female.

Wait. What if he had a girlfriend, or even worse, a wife? No, that couldn't be. One of his buddies teased him about getting a number.

Jenna suddenly found herself flustered. Perhaps he reciprocated that feeling?

She might never see him again. War doesn't discriminate when it picks its victims. She might die before ever seeing him and vice versa. If not, he was Delta, who says he wouldn't disappear?

All Moore knew was that this was distracting her from her duty as a Ranger and as a medic. This was an excellent motivation for her, actually. She resolved that she would go through hell and back just to confess to him. It just so turned out that hell was full of Russians.

* * *

**Here you go. A chapter! I'm sorry if you were looking forward to action. Instead, you get lots of ship tease. Mwahahahahah. Anyway, I'm writing this from the East Coast. I'm on vacation. I've been in Maryland, Virginia (*gasp* that's where some of these chapters took place!), North Carolina, and South Carolina. *ahem.* None of that is really important, just thought it would be good for you to know. Anyway, thanks for the support (if it's still there).**


	9. Sua Sponte (Of their Own Accord)

**New chapter for you people here. Sorry if it's overdue yet again (I need to seriously get more dedicated to this thing) but I'm sort of collaborating with a few friends of mine for a different project. It still needs a bit of prep though, so I'll get in some extra progress on this fic while they gear up.**

**I don't own anything, I'm a hobo Call of Duty, the Modern Warfare trilogy, the characters, or any of that stuff. However, I do own OCs Jenna Moore and Natalia Petrova. _Wait, I didn't mean it that way!_**

**The Battle of Washington, DC is at hand…**

* * *

_Sua Sponte_

_Cpl. Natalia Petrova_

_Status: P.O.W._

_Russian VDV_

_Undisclosed safehouse, USA_

Natalia awoke yet again, still in her chair and in a bit of a daze since yesterday's interrogation session. "Interrogation" was sort of a nice way to say it. A few hours after Frost decided to swing by and talk, a couple of other soldiers decided to have a bit of fun torturing their prisoner. Not for information. Where were the interrogators anyway? It would have been nice if Frost had stopped the MPs before one had her nearly naked and up against the wall… but they came too late to undo the damage done. She was saved, but they still got too far. What they did made Grinch look like a nice guy.

She could hear footsteps and dull explosions echoing in the compound. What was happening?

A sudden blast tore open the door and a handful of masked gunmen stormed in with weapons raised. One of them noticed the lone young woman handcuffed to her seat.

"Hey, you awake? Here, can you tell me your name? What is your name?" he asked gently.

"Who are you? Why are you speaking Russian?" Petrova gasped. "Oh wait… you must be Russian. Sorry. Corporal Natalia Petrova is my name, sir."

Everyone in the room gasped and took a step back. This is _the _Natalia Petrova?

She was obviously broken, tears streaming from her eyes and her sobs audible throughout the room.

"It's… it's an honor meeting you. Pavel Ivanovich Koslov, Sergeant. We will get you out of here, don't worry. Just hang on and stay with us," the soldier introduced himself as one of his men unlocked the handcuffs.

Natalia stood up, everything still hazy and surreal. She felt detached from the world, almost as if she could just stop fighting right on the spot. But that couldn't be allowed to happen at all. Not only did she fight for her country and her people, but now she fought for herself.

"I can't go!"

Koslov took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly, trying to convince her otherwise.

"You will be okay. Understand? You are in friendly hands. We need to get out of here!"

The Ultranationalist soldiers looked on in horror. Cpl. Petrova's face developed the infamous thousand-yard stare, a surefire way to know that someone had finally snapped. Sergeant Koslov motioned toward the door and tossed an AK to Natalia as his men jogged out.

* * *

_An hour earlier_

_Cpl. Derek "Frost" Westbrook_

"We gotta get out of here, right now. Our ride's outside," Sandman said to Team Metal.

"What's going on, Boss? I thought we were gonna handle the assholes who tortured the poor girl," Frost asked.

"Just received some new intel. Our safehouse is compromised, and the Russkies have VDV headed here to take back what they think are high-value prisoners."

"What the hell? We can take those guys!" Truck complained.

"It's not a matter of how well we can handle it. Something else takes precedence."

"What is it?" Grinch piped up.

"Well, Washington DC is occupied by the Russians as we already know. Brass decided it's time to take it back. Russians also know this, and they're sending in a second wave of fresh recruits to reinforce their garrison. There might be members of Makarov's Inner Circle among them, just like the Virginia wave. We're gonna find 'em."

"Holy shit!" Frost blurted.

The operators ran to the Little Bird waiting outside, and joined the fleet of helicopters bringing out everything they could – sensitive material, personnel, stuff like that. No prisoners among them.

Frost buried his face in his hands. He felt like utter crap, knowing how much he and Grinch abused Cpl. Petrova. It was so much worse knowing that a few out-of-control soldiers had managed to damage her even more. She might have been the enemy, but she was just a young girl too. A normal person.

He looked around and saw the expanse of land around himself. Sighing quietly, he thought of how fucked-up the world was. He thought that the enemy, who slaughtered countless Americans, was the worst thing he could see. But he couldn't help but notice that evil was also within the ranks of the US, even he was guilty. Just look at Petrova. At least he could try to right those wrongs and bring the actual bastards who started this bloodbath to light.

Long after everyone had gotten out, the Russians attacked the safehouse only to find that it was mostly empty except for a few P.O.W.s left for dead.

* * *

_Pvt. Jenna Moore_

Jenna had just finished dealing with a patient who thought it was a good idea to cover a captured Russian AK in bacon and ice cream, then fire it. He told her that he saw it on _FPSRussia_ and wanted to try it himself, so he did and the weapon exploded in his hands.

"Harris, you're good to go. It's a good thing that you only broke your wrist, I've seen soldiers with their hands blown off," Jenna said.

"Yeah, yeah. You don't have a sense of fun, do ya Moore?" Harris replied, rolling his eyes.

"Bye," Jenna told him. As he walked out of the tent she raised a middle finger, and he returned the salute.

Ramirez entered as soon as Harris left and went up to Jenna.

"Hey, James. What are you doing here? You never get injured," she asked, preoccupied with putting her stuff away.

"Uhh, I have this weird thing, whenever I get hurt in any way I get blood splatter all over my goggles for some reason," Ramirez awkwardly said.

"You too?"

"WAIT, that's not what I'm here for! Sarge wants us all outside, Colonel Marshall's got orders for us."

The duo exited the tent and made their way to where everyone got their briefings, and as promised, Marshall was there. Once he made sure everyone was present, he started giving everyone the scoop.

"Ladies, gents. We all know that Ivan has Washington, DC. And I'm sure none of us like that, either. Well, command decided that we're gonna be the first ones in to take it back," he started.

Everyone began to cheer and Marshall waited for everyone to quiet down.

"However, it's not going to be easy, not at all. I ain't gonna sugar coat it. It's one helluva shitstorm we'll be getting into. Intel suggests that the Russians are bringing in a second wave to reinforce the invasion force already there. But we are the most capable unit in the area, and since we're Rangers, we get to spearhead the assault.

"So, our first objective is to meet up with some regular Army troops at a bunker beneath the National Mall. They're still holding out, and once we occupy the bunker, they'll be freed up to do more important things. Once we have the bunker, we'll use it as an HQ and as a hospital. Medics, you're going to have a lot on your hands, but luckily for you, the 3rd Infantry Division is lending even more of their own medics to help out. Moore, guess you get to see your old friends again.

"Anyway, we're mobilizing in two hours. I want all of you ready to go by then. _Sua Sponte, _hooah?"

"HOOAH!"

* * *

_-Later-_

All of the Rangers waited underground for further orders. Some soldiers were trying to work, but it was hard to concentrate with explosions shaking the place every ten seconds. The medics were busy treating injured who were flowing in and out at a steady pace. It pained Jenna to see some of her old friends among them, too.

At least her shift was over. She made her way around body bags on the ground over to a vacant spot in the corner. Taking out a battered notebook she used as a journal, she began to scribble words the best she could in the darkness.

_August 17th, 2016_

_We're finally out of Virginia. Now, I'm working my ass off in this bunker beneath the National Mall in DC. Trying to give medical care is really difficult when each explosion rocks everything and throws sparks everywhere. I think a fuckin' water pipe busted above us, too. _

_Anyway, 3rd ID is part of this fight too. They actually gave us some personnel to help out, and they're out fighting with the Rangers. It sucks seeing people I fought alongside in the 3rd injured or dead. _

_I remember having to put Brooke in a body bag. So much shelling, the shock from the explosions got her. I couldn't believe this corpse was that one chick I used to know in high school. The one who got me to enlist. The one who loved me. Brooke… I never thought I'd see you again, not like this…_

_Give Satan hell in Hell, willya?_

_James is taking this pretty hard too. He's not a pussy or anything but I did see him shaking in the corner. He's lost his fair share of buddies too. Not that he hasn't before, but the casualties are more than ever now that we're right in the middle of the entire second wave plus the remnants of the first. _

_I dunno. We've spent so much time together for so long. He has this look in his eyes when he talks to me. I have this weird feeling in my chest when I talk to him. We might like each other, but… on the other hand there's Frost. But James has stuck with me for so long, and I will never forget that. He's my only friend here._

_Speaking of James, he's coming over here right now…_

"Yo, Jenna. I'm going outside with Foley and Dunn for a playdate with Ivan. Hold down the fort for me, willya?" Ramirez said.

"What do you mean? Hell, if you're going, I'm going!" Jenna responded indignantly, following him.

"On your feet, we're oscar mike!" a Ranger shouted, tossing Cpl. Dunn his SCAR-H.

"Where the hell you think you're going, Moore?" he asked, stopping Jenna with his hand.

"With you guys."

Foley walked over and told her, "Sorry about this, Private. You need to stay here and do your main job. You and I know well that there are too many injured for us to handle. Get back in there and get those boys back in the fight!"

"But sir!"

"No buts. That's an order. Get your ass back down there."

"Yes, sir…"

On the way out, she could hear him telling the others what was going on.

"Listen up! This evac site is getting hit hard and we need to buy 'em some time! Hooah?"

"Hooah!"

She shuffled back into the safety of the bunker, eyes facing the ground. She reluctantly went back inside and continued treating injured as usual.

Noticing her expression, one of the fellow medics handed her a radio and said, "I know, it's tough knowing that your friends had to go out there. Take this, at least you'll know what's going on out there."

She nodded and placed it on the ground nearby as she worked on the patient in front of her. There wasn't much of interest coming over comms. From what she heard, it seemed like Foley succeeded in buying the evac site some time.

They were then picked up by a UH-60 Blackhawk for evac. Ramirez used his minigun to shred the Russians all over the World War II memorial to pieces.

Then came some really bad news.

Their chopper came under attack from a SAM battery, and Sgt. Foley ordered the pilot to bring them up so Ramirez could fire on them. But it was too late.

"We're hit! Mayday mayday, this is Dagger Two-One. We are going down at grid square Papa Bravo 2..." was the last thing that came over the radio before it cut out.

"James…" Jenna whispered. "You son of a bitch…"

A minute later, everything electronic in the bunker suddenly went out.

"The fuck's going on?" Jenna heard someone say.

A whole bunch of explosions could be heard outside… and were those choppers going down?

A soldier ran in and started telling everyone what was going on. They had just gotten EMP'd!

After the chaos ended and the shells were no longer falling, Jenna took her carbine and walked outside. Everything was eerily quiet. Not even the streetlights were working. It was peaceful, even though there was a war being fought out there…

* * *

_-Around the time of the EMP-_

_Second Sun_

_August 17, 2016_

_Cpl. Natalia Petrova_

_Russian VDV_

_Washington D.C., USA_

For once, Natalia did not find herself surrounded by remnants. Instead, she had a bunch of new recruits thirsty for action.

No one had encountered the enemy yet. In fact, it seemed like they were far away from all the fighting.

But as the squad walked through the streets, a sudden surprise showed up. Helicopters, jets, anything that could fly, were falling from the sky.

"SHIT! EVERYONE, TAKE COVER!" Natalia screamed, shooting open the window of a nearby building and leaping in.

Everything was silent after the chaos was over. She could hear the panicked chatter of her men and nothing else.

"What's going on? What the hell is going on?"

"I don't think the Americans have a weapon like that."

"If so, they used it on themselves too, is this the end?"

"Man, I just wanna go home. This place is really screwed up."

Natalia checked her weapon to make sure it wasn't damaged. As she peered through the KOBRA sight she had mounted on her AKS-74, she noticed something was off. After replacing the batteries, nothing happened. Then, it finally hit her.

"All of you, if you have red dot sights, check them. Tell me if they're off," she ordered.

As expected, no one's sight still worked.

"All right, I know what's going on. We've just been affected by an EMP."

She keyed her radio and attempted to notify command until realizing that radios wouldn't work either.

_God damn, they're freaking out! Petrova, concoct some bullshit!_

"Listen, we're Russian. Just because our electronic shit is down doesn't mean we aren't combat effective. I'm sure our soldiers in the Great Patriotic War didn't win the fight against the Germans with gadgets. They won with fighting spirit. Well… that and numbers, but we don't need numbers when we have that will to fight. So ditch your sights, let's show the Yankees how we really put up a fight!" Natalia urged.

"URA!" a few soldiers cheered.

"Anyway, I see an office building right over there. There's a BTR right in front of it, so that must mean that our guys are in that building. Come on, let's go," Natalia ordered.

Her hair felt soaked for some reason, and she was pretty sure she didn't sweat that much. Plus, it didn't feel very hot at all, in fact, it felt chilly. She looked up, and it was actually raining. Wasn't she wearing her patrol cap just a few minutes earlier? Must have lost it.

"Man, it's cold out here. Last time I checked, I was melting from the heat!" a soldier complained.

"Shut up! At least this isn't Russian winter!" another snapped.

"Hold up. The BTR. Hear that?" Natalia asked.

A few soldiers were trapped inside and were banging on the walls. Their voices were muffled, but their words were still recognizable.

"Hey! Can somebody hear me? Is there anyone alive? HEY!" one of them was yelling desperately.

"Shut up, my head hurts!"

Privates Sokolov, Utkin, and Kozlov all sprinted up to the BTR and tried to get the trapped people inside out.

"We hear you! Hold on! We'll pull you out!" Utkin yelled.

"Dammit, how do we open the hatch? This thing's got an electronic lock!" Kozlov panicked.

"Shut up, and help me!" Sokolov scolded.

"Let us out! What's taking you so long? Let's go!" a soldier inside complained.

"Sit quietly, and don't panic! We'll get you out!"

"We need a crowbar to open it. Let's find one, guys."

"No time. Push it, come on!"

"Fuck! Can't see any-fucking-thing!"

A few gunshots, and Sokolov, Utkin, and Kozlov all fell off the BTR and on to the ground, dead.

Kaminski freaked out and tried to run over, but Natalia managed to hold him back as a handful of Americans came by. She could hear them talking.

"What about the guys inside?"

"What about 'em?"

After they passed, the trapped men inside the BTR kept pleading for help.

"Guys? Hello? Please, don't leave us!"

They had no choice but to leave them.

"We're down to five of us left," Kaminski remarked.

The Russians continued down the street for a few minutes until a grenade rolled right into the street.

"GRENADE, TAKE COVER!" Volsky screamed as he threw himself onto the explosive.

"Private Volsky is down! Get behind something and return fire! I'll cover you!" Natalia ordered as she inserted a mag into her AKS-74 and shot in the general direction of the enemy.

A lucky 5.56 round managed to find her leg, and she whimpered in pain, crumpling against a nearby car. She slowly crawled under it to the other side, trying not to be hit again.

"I-I'm hit! Come on, take them out!" she said.

"Getting screwed in the ass over here! Anyone got a weapon?" Kuznetsov yelled.

"Got it! Here, take these!" Kaminski responded, sliding a few magazines over.

"This ain't a fucking weapon, Kaminski!"

"For the love of- here!" Natalia snapped, tossing her own weapon to Kuznetsov.

"Thanks, ma'am!"

She bit her lip, grimacing from the pain. It was bleeding faster than it should have, but it wasn't as bad as it seemed.

"Y-you know what? Just g-get out! Leave me here!" she shouted, her voice wavering.

"You sure?"

"Dammit, I'm sure! Just go!"

The last three of her troops got up and ran away, and the shooting stopped.

"Yeah, go run assholes!" an American scoffed as he and his comrades started walking away. Once they were gone, everything was quiet as usual.

Natalia leaned against the car and closed her eyes. At least she'd die in a relatively peaceful place...

* * *

Jenna walked alone, shivering from the intense cold brought by the rain which poured over everything. Damn, how was she supposed to handle Russia when she couldn't deal with D.C.?

She checked her M4A1. Dripping wet. The words "Black Parade" etched into it were worn out from the rigors of combat.

No one seemed to be around, but she continued shuffling aimlessly through the downpour. Why was she even there? Did she really believe she could find Sgt. Foley, Cpl. Dunn, and Pvt. Ramirez? Or was she trying to get captured or something?

A soldier came running toward her. He was wearing the American ACU camouflage, so he must have been friendly. She couldn't be too sure, after all, she didn't know the countersign at all.

"Star!" the man called as he raised his rifle and approached. At this point, his face was recognizable.

Jenna sighed, took off her goggles and helmet, and raised her hands.

"Go ahead, shoot me, Vaughan," she muttered.

"Moore? I thought you were dead! You weren't with Ramirez like you usually would!" Vaughan replied in shock.

"Wait, if I wasn't with him, that would mean I'm alive."

"No, I mean I didn't see you alongside him and the others. I just found them a few minutes back… oh wait, I get ya! They're alive and kickin'!"

Jenna's eyes lit up like they always did when she heard good news. "Where are they?"

"That's actually what I'm here for, I'm a runner for Colonel Marshall. We gotta regroup at Whiskey Hotel and take it back."

"The hell is Whiskey Hotel?"

"White House, dumbass. Two more things. First, call is 'Star,' response 'Texas.' Second, where is the Mall bunker?"

"Down the street, you can't miss the big ass craters in the dirt."

"I'll be on my way. Good luck, Moore."

Jenna shouldered her weapon and started jogging down the sidewalk. The White House was in that direction, she believed.

_James, I'm coming for you._

She came across a couple of cars and a two dead bodies. Russian. One lay face down in the street, and after she turned him over, it was evident that he took a grenade. The other was against a car.

She was about to continue on her way until she saw movement in the second dead person. She turned around and approached.

A female Russian with blonde hair sat, grabbing her leg and staring at Jenna.

"Go ahead, shoot me, bitch," the Russian muttered. She had a soft voice that didn't match her attempt to sound tough. Everything about her was familiar, her appearance, her voice, the way she wore the uniform…

"I'm not gonna hurt you, even if you're the asshole who fucked me in the head with an AK back in Virginia," Jenna replied, grinning. "Private Jenna Moore, US Army medic. I'll fix you up."

"Corporal Natalia Petrova, Russian VDV… why are you helping me? I'm the enemy!" Natalia said.

"Well," Jenna spoke, taking a few supplies out and bandaging Natalia's leg, "I don't give a shit. I'm a bit soft, I guess. You're cute, too, remind me of this girl I knew. Can't let a pretty little thing like you die out in the rain like this."

"Y-Yeah? I'm Russian! You're American! How do you know I wouldn't cap you as soon as you were done!?"

"Natalia, is it? Think about it. If it weren't for this entire war thing, we could have been friends or something like that instead of shooting at each other. Hell, we mighta fucked. I myself am not exactly a popular person, and I'm sure you're not, either. We get that kind of shit as ladies. Plus, something about you tells me I can trust you."

Natalia went silent. It was true.

"…thought so. We're not too different. And I'm pretty sure you don't have an AK to hit me with this time."

As the girl started laughing, Natalia truly saw humanity in the enemy for once. This was a medic, after all. She secretly hoped the entire time that the Americans were good people, and Moore really embodied that.

"Anyway, I just put a compression dressing on your leg, it'll stop the bleeding. Round barely hit your artery. Good luck, Natalia," Jenna finished. "Just remember what I said."

"Thanks… Jenna," Natalia reluctantly whispered as the medic continued on her way.

She looked to the sky, longing for a reality where the war had never happened in the first place.

* * *

**Well, it's over. It's all over. Thanks for the support guys, it's been quite a ride.**

**Wait, hold on. This isn't the end yet! Mwahahaha! I still haven't wrapped up the MW2 campaign yet! It could have ended here, but I did say in the description there would be MW3, right? Besides, you need more Jenna X Frost in your lives! This is just the end of the chapter. As you all can see, the MW2 section of this fic is coming to a close. The epic conclusion to this half (Yes, half. Suck it.) will come in the next chapter, which will hopefully not be as overdue as this one.**

**A quick question while I'm at it. If you guys want it, I can start writing this fanfic in first person, after all, it's a first person shooter. I think it might work better that way, but I didn't want to change it abruptly and make it weird for you. So should I**

**-Continue writing in 3rd person?**

**-Write in 1st person?**

**-Write in 3rd person but switch to a character's POV now and then?**


	10. Whiskey Hotel

**Dayum. We're already this far, and the (hopefully epic, I'm making up this entire fic as I go along actually) conclusion is finally at hand. Well, not so much the actual conclusion, but an end to the MW2 arc. I just want to thank you guys for the support you have given me. I was actually losing motivation to continue because with the last chapter, views were dropping and I barely got any response at all, but thanks to shephard110 favoriting and Hawk-eye-33 (yes, the author of that SYOS fic I mentioned once) faving and following recently I have the motivation to continue.**

**And of course thanks to all you other followers, favoriters, and reviewers out there.**

**I'm sure this is totally boring and irrelevant to anything, but I'm starting high school at the end of the month, and damn I'm nervous. I heard it sucks being a freshman. What's even worse is that I went to public elementary but went to a snobby-rich-kid private catholic school for middle school, so I'm bound to take some flak for that.**

**Anyway, I still haven't gotten any answers on whether I should write in 3rd person, 3rd person with POV switches, or 1st person yet. I'm assuming that means I just continue the way I'm doing this?**

**Well enough of this rambling, I'm sure you want to know what's going on with our favorite misfit gals who _just so happen_ to be caught up in the destruction of America's capital.**

* * *

_Whiskey Hotel_

_August 17, 2016_

_Pvt. Jenna Moore_

_Attached to 1stBn, 75thRangers Regiment_

_Washington D.C., USA_

Jenna calmly started walking away from the Russian soldier she just decided to help out. She wasn't exactly sure what got herself to help her out. And she was right, they technically were enemies and were sort of obligated to, you know, try and kill each other.

"I guess I still had a bit of humanity left in me," she muttered.

As she continued, she began hearing voices behind herself, and they were Russian.

_Aw shit, they're already here, gotta pick up my pace! _Jenna thought as she began sprinting very ungracefully. Unfortunately, the enemy heard and started firing blindly.

_I'm getting to Whiskey Hotel, even if it kills me. I'm going to end this war and bring everyone home already…_

* * *

_Jenna's thoughts_

Why did I join the army anyway? Why did I decide to give up the life I had? It was hell enough, and I decided to go further in. I mean, everyone who has ever asked, I just simply replied that I had nothing better to do.

I remember when the nuke went off in 2011. My dad was a Marine on the ground and my mom was an A-10 pilot flying close-air support for the grunts. I was around 16 and life was already sucking shit a lot, but having parents fighting in a damn war makes things harder. I always saw the news about it on TV, and a lot of kids at school had relatives there too. It was impossible to escape it. The war was the only thing we ever heard about. That goddamn war.

I was in social studies when it actually happened. Someone came up on the intercom and ordered all teachers to turn on a news channel. And then came the news that US forces had been nuked in the Middle East. At least 40,000 casualties.

Then came the instant grief. Panic and grief started coming over every classroom that had anyone with military relatives in it. There was this one girl in my class, Paula Jackson (her dad was in the Marines) who started having a panic attack. I myself didn't grieve or worry though, not at the time. I was pretty freaking pissed off.

After class, I overheard a few douchebags talking about what had just happened.

"Pfft, why should I care? Not like I'm part of it, and it's nowhere near here."

"Right, why's everyone making a big deal about it?"

"What do they ever do for us anyway? Kill people for oil?"

"Yeah, fuck the military!"

I finally lost my cool and interrupted them.

"The fuck you just say, you little shit?" I growled.

"You heard me, bitch. We get it, your parents are over there, their fault for being there in the first place. Stop taking your problems out on us. No one gives a damn about your mom and dad, Jenna. They were probably worthless anyway."

Oh, shit. Things were gonna get really messy.

The little shit kept running his mouth, and I was getting more pissed off every second. He knew exactly what to say.

"Hey, didn't your mom fly a plane or some shit? She enjoy bombing brown people? Your dad must have died trying to steal that sweet, sweet oil, huh? I'm glad they're dead. I'm not sure what's giving me cancer, you or the bomb that killed them. Good fucking ridd-"

I took his head, shoved it into his open locker, and started slamming the door on him repeatedly, screaming at him incessantly.

"YOU! PIECE! OF! TRASH! WHY! DON'T! YOU! GO! KILL! YOURSELF!?" I shouted, hitting him with the locker door between words. "Fucking abortion survivor, you leave your extra pair of chromosomes at home!? At least my parents... fucking... L-L-LOVED ME!"

I let go of the door, overcome by my tears, and he was already wailing. I was still really pissed, so I span him around and gave him a nice hard kick in the balls. Didn't want scum like him to breed, y'know?

"Pull that kinda thing again, I dare you. I'll shove a cactus so far down your throat that you'll shit needles for a week. You are a prick, after all…"

A single voice came from the crowd of kids watching me.

"Hey, you wanna go? Square u-"

I immediately span around and looked right into his eyes. Fear took over and he looked straight down and dropped the entire thing.

The crowd was mumbling.

"Damn."

"She got on his ass real quick."

"She's crazy!"

"He kinda deserved it."

"Is he dead?"

I walked away, straight out the doors of the school. And no one was gonna stop me.

When my parents were deployed, I usually lived alone, my grandparents visiting every now and then to check up on me because they were just stupid like that. Why they trusted me with them, I dunno. Mom's parents weren't around anymore. Dad's neglected him too as a kid, but they were the only ones available. I didn't have uncles or aunts either.

I didn't return to school the next day. I already knew what would happen anyway. You know, getting suspended and all that stuff.

Three days later, I got the dreaded condolences from the guys wearing their nice dress uniforms. I felt bad for them, having to be the people to tell me this. It was confirmed, my parents were KIA in the nuke. I slammed the door shut and slumped against the wall, tears streaming from my eyes. It was impossible. They really were dead.

I wanted to kill something really bad.

I started returning to school. The nuke made a giant impact in my life too. My grades began to drop like a bitch, and I started getting in fights and such more often. I found myself becoming a delinquent through high school. I was rowdy before, but I didn't know I'd be heading down the path to jail.

Now, just because I was a troublemaker doesn't mean I was an asshole. I had a reputation for being the friendliest delinquent ever, but I still distanced myself from others. I didn't have many friends. However, I was, well, still am, extremely passionate in what I believe in. I made plenty of enemies. Mostly punk-ass wannabe gangbangers who had something against me after I trashed them.

It was nearing the end of the senior year. Everyone was talking about their assorted dreams and such, but I had no plans for my life. My parents were dead, and I never really decided what I wanted to do. I had a few ideas, but I wasn't sure whether they would approve of them or not. I didn't give a damn anymore. I wanted to just die already.

No one ever asked about what happened to my parents and whatnot. Everyone knew why I was the way I was, and it was a shitty idea to bring it up.

There was this one girl who had the guts to approach me about it, and her name was Brooke. Now, she was the kind of person who you wouldn't dare make cry, the kindest saint anyone had known. I couldn't turn her down when she asked.

"What are you going to do after school's out?" she asked, her innocent eyes meeting mine. How the hell could someone be this adorable?

"Uh… I'm not s-sure. I'm not really planning on anything. I'll just go where life takes me," I responded, not revealing a plan I was formulating.

A plan to kill myself.

"You know, everyone tells me not to talk about your past, and that you'll beat me up if I do. But I can tell that you're not the kind of person everyone says you are. You're a human just like the rest of us. If you don't want to, you don't have to… but could you please tell me about your parents?"

My eyes widened and I inhaled sharply. No one ever brought this up.

Ah, to hell with it. I told her.

"Have you ever thought of joining the military, then? If you say you don't have anything to lose, why not?" she questioned, cocking her head slightly.

I thought about it for a while. I finally decided that I would enlist instead of drinking a bleach cocktail.

As soon as graduation happened, I was going to go right to the recruiting station. On the way out, Brooke tugged on my sleeve and asked me if she could come.

"There's something I never told you. I've had problems with my parents myself. My dad left, and my mom was worthless. She neglected me for years, busy with her dumb gambling addiction. After he was arrested, I was left with my older sister, who can barely keep herself afloat with the income. I need a place to go too, Jenna," she confessed.

So the two of us joined together and ended up as medics in the 3rd Infantry Division. We were separated after I got a request from the brass if I wanted to join the 75th Rangers. Hell yeah I did! As soon as I responded they shipped me out immediately before I got a chance to tell any of my friends where I was going.

Sometime during that deployment, can't remember when, but… she said she loved me. She had ever since she met me. She didn't even lean that way either. I mean, sure, I can swing however the hell I want. Doesn't matter. Point is that she went that far just to be alongside me, and I threw it away.

A while after, I met with her again, this time in the bunker underneath the National Mall. She was KIA from the shock of the shelling the Russians were constantly keeping up. Never even got to say bye. I found myself losing morale after that. I was losing friend after friend, and when the EMP happened I couldn't take anymore. I more or less abandoned my post and kept walking. Along the way, I met an injured Russian soldier going by the name of Natalia Petrova.

I think the reason I helped her was because something about her reminded me of Brooke. Her eyes were fiery but somewhere in there I saw the glint of innocence that she once had.

And here I am, on my way to Whiskey Hotel.

Why the fuck am I talking to myself?

Wait, I'm not saying this out loud.

* * *

_Later_

Lost in thought, Jenna continued, staring at the ground. The sound of explosions grew louder. She looked up, and there she was – the lawn in front of the White House. Colonel Marshall was barking orders left and right, and she jogged up to him as explosives went off all over the lawn and soldiers desperately charged toward the front of the building.

"Sir?"

"Moore! Why the hell are you away from your post!? We were radioed that you were MIA, kid!"

"Sorry, I got the message that we were to regroup here, sir!"

A trio of familiar Rangers appeared behind her and tapped her on the shoulder.

"Yo, Jenna. Where you been?"

She turned around to meet Sgt. Foley, Cpl. Dunn, and Pvt. Ramirez, all alive.

"Holy shit! I thought you guys were dead! It's so good to see you!" she exclaimed.

Marshall quickly interrupted, screaming, "It's nice to know the family's together, but we need to take back Whiskey Hotel! Now get your squad going up the left flank! MOVE!"

The four of them began sprinting the best they could, the impacts of shells leaving craters in the dirt.

A mounted machine gunner had his sights on Moore and Ramirez. Noticing that she was looking right through the barrel, Jenna shoved James into a nearby crater and jumped in after him, the .50 caliber rounds pounding the earth inches from them.

Ramirez nearly crushed Jenna, landing right on top of her. It only took a moment for their eyes to lock and for them to realize what was going on before a major wave of embarrassment hit the two.

The Rangers went inside of the building, a shell of its former glory.

"I wonder if POTUS is on the top floor cutting them down with an Uzi," Ramirez joked.

"I've always wanted to be inside the White House, but this isn't what I meant!" Jenna added.

Dunn noticed something coming from behind a painting on the wall. He stepped up and took it off, revealing a speaker.

"Hey, you keeping that? If you don't want it, I'll take it. I bet Ebay would pay plenty for that," Jenna commented.

"Shut up, we're getting a radio message."

"This is Tojo 5-1 to any friendly units in D.C., Hammerdown is in effect. I repeat, Hammerdown is in effect. If you are receiving this transmission, you are in a hardened high-value structure. Deploy green flares on the roof of this structure to indicate that you are still combat effective. We will abort our mission on direct visual contact with this counter-sign."

"Well, let's get moving then!" Foley yelled, running out of the room first.

They made their way through the house, shooting, stabbing, and punching their way through multiple pissed off Ultranationalists.

Jenna quickly dodged a Russian's knife, and took him down with a number of handgun rounds.

They began dashing up the stairs, almost to the roof. There were only a few seconds left before the Air Force would fuck up everything. Knowing that she wasn't fast enough to make it, Jenna tossed her flare to a random Ranger nearby.

Ramirez dropped to his knees, a flare in each hand and sweat dripping from his brow. He handed his flare to Dunn, and took off his helmet, revealing his dark, wavy hair. Taking a rag from his vest he wiped the sweat off as Jenna stared at the expanse of Washington DC around them.

Green lights could be seen on buildings everywhere. She couldn't believe it. The Americans were winning! She was starting to get used to this view.

"So when are we goin' to Moscow?" a Ranger asked.

"Not soon enough, man. But I know we're gonna burn it down when we get there," Dunn grunted, anger present in his voice.

"When the time's right, Corporal, when the time's right," Foley replied.

"When's that?" Jenna randomly blurted.

She suddenly found herself staring straight into Ramirez's dark brown eyes for a moment right before he squeezed them shut, and she felt their lips meeting. She jumped as he embraced her on the spot. A few seconds later, James stepped back in embarrassment, averting his eyes, Jenna blushing harder than she ever had before.

"…James?"

"I-I'm sorry. I've been wanting to confess this to you for a while, I thought this was a perfect time. I thought, _hey, nothin' to lose! _Jenna. I love you."

_Shit._

* * *

**Damn. This was an interesting chapter to write, specifically the ending. Anyway, sorry if this one took a while to put out, I've been working on other things lately. Reviews are appreciated but not necessary. If you liked it, you're free to follow or fav.**

***suspenseful music***

**Who will our American heroine choose? The man who captured her heart the second they met, or the loyal friend who had loved her from the start? Drama, I say, drama! Tune in next time to find out! Just kidding, you'll have to wait for her to choose!**

**It's time for the Jenna X Frost and Jenna X James shipping war to start, kids.**

**Anyway, hoped you like it!**

**QUICK UPDATE: All right, schools starting for me on Monday, so I'm not sure what will happen. Depending on the situation, I might update more or less often. My goal for this fic is to get at least 20+ chapters for it before it ends, and *maybe* have it be good enough to earn a spot on TvTropes' Fanficrecs page. (hint, hint.)**


	11. Past Praying For

**Dayum, guys. I got a bunch of reviews the night I posted the last chapter. Went from like zero for chapter 9 to six for chapter 10 as of the time I'm writing this. New ships pay off, apparently.**

**Seems like half of you want James to be with his sweetheart. I'll admit it here, I originally intended for him to get turned down, but I'll give him a chance. Now, keep in mind that no matter what happens in the next ten chapters or so, doesn't mean any ships are being sunk or anything. If I decide one thing or another I'll make sure to tell you guys in the A/Ns.**

**Anyway, my goal is to make this thing at least 20 chapters long and make it the best I can. I'm hoping for a possible spot in TVTropes' fanficrecs page for CoD, hint hint. I said this in an A/N in the last chapter but I'll bring it up again in case no one noticed.**

**The Rangers have taken back DC and have finally earned themselves a bit of rest, and the Russians have been shipped back home to prepare for the next stage of their plans for world domination.**

**A certain Private is going to have to set aside her current drama for something much more important, but since she sucks at multitasking, well, she'll probably deal with both at once…**

* * *

_August 20, 2016_

_PFC Jenna Moore_

_Attached to 1st_ _Bn, 75th_ _Rangers Regiment_

_Hunter Army Airfield, Georgia (1st Battalion's base)_

Jenna flipped through her journal, trying to process everything that had just happened.

_We pushed the Russians out of the capital and stopped the bombing from happening, I spent the next few days after in a daze. So much was going on at once. Ramirez's confession, my promotion, the war still being fought, the death of General Shepherd, and my reassignment. It was a lot for me to handle._

* * *

_August 17, 2016_

After we stopped Hammerdown from happening, we were exhausted as hell, but with most vehicles out of commission we had to hump our way back to base. ("Hump" as in "march," you sick pervert.) My face was turning an unhealthy shade of red, and James looked away each time I looked at him. Neither us spoke to each other as we dragged ourselves through the constant downpour.

Every person in the squad was beat up and ready to collapse. We also lost a lot of our stuff in the fight. I dropped my piece sometime while I was running up the stairs at the White House, I think my helmet got blown off while running through explosions at the front lawn, my assault pack (just a backpack with a badass name) had so many holes in it that I ditched it, and I threw off my body armor so I wouldn't faint. The only thing I still had was actually something I rarely wore, my ACU blouse (coat). It was a good idea bringing it, the rain was colder than the showers back in Afghanistan.

Your tax dollars at work, America. Your move, Russia.

I shivered, my hair dripping wet and in an out-of-regs mess. How fucking far did we have to go?

A soldier started gossiping to Dunn, who was a bit of a mood after seeing God-knows-what. A good rule of thumb is not to talk to the man if he's feeling irritable. Plus, the idiot talking thought I couldn't hear him even though he was practically yelling. Dipshit.

"Yo, you were there at the roof, right?"

"Yeah. What about it?"

"Saw Moore making out with Ramirez. You think they're gonna fuck or something like she did to Allen back in the sandbox? I personally think-…"

Dunn lost it and grabbed the soldier by his vest.

"Shut the fuck up about it, all right? Some things you're just supposed to stay out of, got it?" he scolded. "And this is one of those things, bro."

Foley also heard and piped up.

"Boys, come on. We're all tired and we wanna go home already. Can you please hold it until we're done here?"

When we got back to our temporary base, we all dropped onto our cots and died for the night. We fought hard and we fought well and needed some serious shuteye.

* * *

_The next day, August 18_

I woke up with my heart pounding. Doki doki. I'm not sure why.

I glanced at my watch and found out I overslept. Why didn't James wake me up? Oh right.

Damn, I was starving. Barely ate at all the day before. It was about time for chow anyway. I got up, glanced down at my sleeping clothes (PT uniform shorts and ACU tan T-shirt), shrugged, and made my way to the mess. There, I found Ramirez sitting alone. I got my food and plopped my ass down on the seat in front of him.

"Hey. You're looking pretty right now," he chuckled, staring at his food.

"Really? I didn't take a shower at all, I'm still in my stinky old sleeping clothes, and I look like a 15-year-old who did so much crack that she started to look like a 40-year-old hooker," I responded.

"I dunno, even with that you still look kinda cute."

I smiled a bit and flicked him on the forehead.

"Ow, what the hell was that for?"

"That was for hitting on me."

There was a bit of awkward silence.

"Uh… right. About that. H-have you considered… you know?" James stammered. "I still love you. I have for kind of a while now."

Shoot, he got me off guard. Again.

"You know what? I'll think about it. There's just so much going on and I don't think I have much time to kill. I don't think I'm actually ready to start dating or anything. Sorry."

I looked away for a second.

"Besides, we're still fighting a war. We'll talk about this some other time, all right?"

His face lit up a bit and he nodded.

Someone came up behind me and tapped me on the shoulder. It was Dunn!

"Hey Moore, nice pajamas. You two are really cute together, you know that? Er, anyway… Sergeant Foley wants to see you real quick and talk to you about something, you can find him at his post," he said.

"Sure thing, sir. I'll see ya around, James," I replied.

I found Foley at a desk. His elbow was resting on the surface, and his hand was on his forehead. Looked like he was thinking about something really deeply as he stared intently at the desk. I stood at the entrance and shrugged. It hurt like hell.

"Moore, there you are," he muttered. "You know, you're lucky I let you get away with gestures like that…"

He looked up at me.

"The brass finally thinks you deserve a promotion. How does being a Private First Class sound?"

"Really, Sarge?"

"That's right. Even a lazy delinquent bum shithead like you fought hard enough to warrant this," he joked, seemingly in more of an effort to make himself chuckle than me.

I still had a rep for being a bit of a troublemaker and constantly waking up late, stuff like that. Nothing like my school days. They kept me around, though, because they said I was a great medic. I think I grew on them though. They put up with my shit.

We shook hands and went through all that stuff. Next thing, I finally got my promotion. I was up for one after rotating out of the 'Stan but they found out what kind of things went down between me and Allen, and I sort of lost it.

* * *

The 19th rolled around and I spent the day kicking back and fucking around. This time, I didn't have to ditch latrine duty to do it either. We all got a free day as a reward for DC. Like hell we wouldn't get one after that.

Next thing you know, we all get told to report to a briefing. Aww damn, orders already? _Bullllllllshiiiiiiiiiiit. _

Colonel Marshall had news for us as usual. This time, it was serious stuff. Wait… when the hell wasn't it?

"Ladies, gentlemen, I'm not sure if you heard the rumors yet. But I'm here to confirm that they're true."

Everyone was confused. What rumors?

"Recently, General Shepherd was found KIA in Afghanistan. Assassinated. The two suspects we believe did so were members of his Task Force 141, Captains John Price and John 'Soap' MacTavish. They are officially wanted criminals and are to be killed or captured if found."

Holy shit! TF141, that's where Allen went I think.

"In other news, we're mobilizing to hit New York City. Place is still swarming with Russians. They have an armada of ships off the coast, and the flyboys can't soften 'em up because they're jamming the city to hell and back. We're going in to help the D-Boys get rid of that jammer and kill the armada. We're expected to be ready on the 21st, hooah?"

"HOOAH!" came the plethora of exhausted whispers, half-assed mutters, and the barks of guys jacking off their moto-boners.

Wait. Delta Force? Could that mean-?

After everyone dispersed, Marshall came up to me and told me I had a guy who wanted to talk to me. Sheesh, why was I so popular lately? This kind of attention was too positive for me.

I walked into the tent to find a familiar face standing next to Foley. It was that one dude from the Delta guys back in Virginia! He was their commander. He came up and shook my hand.

"Name's 'Sandman.' You must be Moore. Listen, we recently lost our medic, and we're looking for a replacement who can also be a shooter for us. I've heard good things about you, kid. I got a proposition for ya. How does joining Delta Force sound?"

"Excuse me, sir?"

"You heard me. Specifically, you'll be joining my team, Team Metal. You'll be with us to take out the jammer and all. We don't expect you to be doing much fighting, though. This is just a temporary assignment."

"Can I have a bit of time to decide?"

"No can do. We need an answer ASAP so we're ready to ship you out with us to get ready."

_Well, I couldn't turn it down…_

"Yes sir!"

"Good, because it's not like you had a choice anyway. Some higher-ups are actually arranging this. Now get outta here and finish up what you need to get done, we're going first thing at 0600 hours on the 21st."

* * *

I told Ramirez about it like everything else the next day. It was already night, and I was busy prepping all day.

"Oh…" he mumbled. "Congrats! I'm glad to hear you're going places..."

"Yeah, I'm shipping out tomorrow morning. Just thought I'd tell you."

Silence.

James started tearing up a bit.

"Jenna… I'm gonna miss you. You know that? I'm going to miss your smile. Those hazel eyes that everybody said were dull, but that I know light up when you're happy. That cute little giggle of yours when you're doing something stupid. I'll really miss that."

Man, I felt bad for him. I didn't really know if I loved him back. On one hand, I think I did, considering I couldn't fucking spit it out myself. Surefire sign. And I didn't want to lose him like I lost_ Brooke_. But on the other hand, I still really wanted to be with Frost. Stupid me.

"How about this, meet me at my tent at 2400, we'll say goodbye then."

"Uh… okay?"

Damn, he was really innocent.

I made sure that no one would be anywhere near. I learned a lot in Afghanistan, and this time I wouldn't allow the mistake of anyone finding out.

Midnight. He was bound to show up. I sat back in my chair, irresponsibly twirling my M9. I was down to my T-shirt and trousers as usual. He came in the next minute.

"Hey, what did you need me for again?" he whispered.

"About saying bye…" I replied, getting up and returning the kiss he gave me back at Whiskey Hotel. "You had no idea I was gonna fuck you blind?"

"I-I thought that…"

"James. I wanna thank you for being there for me the whole way," I smiled, taking off my shirt slowly to tease him.

"J-Jenna!? Whoa, a-are we really doing this?" he panicked. "Man, this is awkward as hellbut it's turning me on."

As I unbuttoned my pants, I realized what was really going on. Typically I had to be drunk to pull this kind of dumb shit. Then again, James was special to me.

"Stop it! I don't want to take advantage of you or anything!" he said, averting his eyes.

Man, if this was a shoujo anime it would have been even funnier. Two dumbasses in a tent, red-faced, trying to decide what they were doing.

"No, Jenna-chan… b-BAKA!" Hee hee.

He stood frozen in place, trying not to look at me in my underwear.

"I w-wore this black lacy stuff for a reason. I th-thought you'd like that," I pouted, simultaneously flustered.

He reluctantly proceeded to undress, spotting the little square packet I left on the cot and getting all fussed up over it.

"Uhh… h-h-how are we gonna do this?"

"I guess one of us has to go first."

I sort of just stood there, unsure of what to expect. He waddled over and took my chin in his hand, giving me a second of his face before we kissed.

The first one was awkward, slow, just like the one we had on the White House.

I went for the next one, coming up and giving him a little bit of tongue. Daring, but unsure.

He finally went for the third. He really went for it that time. Now that one was just the hot and dirty kind that would precede what we'd be doing. Next thing we knew, we were really into it, passionately kissing each other like we meant it.

We ended up on the cot, and at this point he was becoming the dominant one here… which was weird, knowing me. Guess James was the only guy capable of making Moore submit. Or maybe I wasn't a fucking drunk animal.

I felt his hands behind my back, fumbling to unhook the cute little black lacy bra I had fished out just for him. Why I had it, not gonna tell you.

He nuzzled his face into my collarbone and nibbled at it a little, trying to find that weak spot.

When he found it, I let out a tiny whimper that I failed to keep in. Sort of a half-suppressed moan?

"Jenna… that was the cutest sound I have ever heard from you. I never imagined you sounding like that…"

"Dude, sh-sh-shut up!"

He knew how to get me all worked up, didn't he?

Not gonna describe the rest. It was pretty obvious how that went down in the end.

I just really hope no one heard it…

* * *

I pulled my shirt back on and sat in the bed. James and I were breathing in pace, all synchronized. He stumbled backward into the chair, buttoning his pants.

"Damn…" he gasped as I silently sat up on the cot to get my clothes off. "Jenna…"

"Don't fucking speak of this. Ever," I growled, my face burning and my heart pounding as I realized what I had done.

Silence. I unconsciously held on to my shoulder as I built up the courage to even look at him.

"James… watch your ass. I won't be there to do it for you.

"R-right. And you watch your own six. Though with that ass, I wouldn't shoot…"

We hugged one last time, embracing for what felt like a lifetime. I hated to admit it, but I really wanted to stay like that forever.

* * *

I woke up at 0600 just as promised. I rubbed my eyes and yawned. Crazy night.

I put on my uniform and as usual after such a night flipped my collar up and pulled my sleeves down on the shirt. I got out of the tent, adjusted my patrol cap and started looking for Sandman. Where was he?

I bumped into him all of a sudden.

"There you are, Moore! We gotta go! Chopper's waiting! The fuck were you?"

He led me to the Blackhawk, its rotors spinning rapidly and kicking up dust. It looked like the the result of a drunk one-night-stand between a UH-60 and an F-117 Nighthawk. Was that the kind of helicopter the SEALs used when they killed Bin Laden?

A crewmember helped me in as Sandman hopped through the other side.

As we took off, I looked out the window at the camp below. Somewhere there, James was about to get ready to come to New York too.

_Goodbye, Hunter 2-1._

* * *

I was brought to a compound where the team was getting ready. I was to meet them, get briefed, and get my gear ready.

Sandman brought me to the room where Team Metal was. There they were waiting.

"Moore, allow us to properly introduce ourselves," Sandman said. "I'll go first. Now we're not really cleared to tell you our real names, so most of us will hold back. However, we do know your name. That's a bad thing, we need to give you a callsign sometime soon so your identity isn't compromised. Anyway, as you know, I'm Sandman, Metal 0-1. Everyone else likes to call me 'boss,' if you like you can call me that."

The next soldier introduced himself. He was African-American and seemed slightly stronger than the other guys.

"I'm Truck, Metal 0-2, Assistant Team Leader and Automatic Rifleman. Looking forward to fighting with ya, Moore."

Next guy was wearing sunglasses (inside?) and had a slight Southern accent.

"I'm a mean one, they call me Mr. Grinch. Metal 0-3. I'm the designated marksman 'cause I've been shooting shit since I was like five."

The dude in the corner I didn't recognize but I think I had an idea of who he was. He had his cover on indoors for some reason and a bit of… (white?) hair spilling out from under his cover. How many rules did these guys break?

"Yo. We've met before. I'm gonna tell you my name anyway. Staff Sergeant Derek 'Frost' Westbrook. I'm just a shooter but I usually do grenadier stuff too. And don't ask about the hair…"

**HOW DID HE REMEMBER ME!?**

"Heh, yeah. We call him Frost because of that hair. He used to be a scene kid, apparently he still is." Grinch chimed in.

"He also likes to act like a stoic. We're the people he trusts most, yet he doesn't tell us much. We all know he's real soft underneath. He's sorta hard to predict, sometimes he's serious, sometimes he's smooth and charming as hell without knowing it," Truck added.

Hell, my heart was at it again. Doki doki away little guy.

"Hey, why are you sweating? Right, the air conditioning is dead in here. You might wanna take off the jacket," Frost suggested.

He wanted me to take off something…

No, no, he didn't mean it that way!

"N-no thanks. I usually like to take it off but I want to make a good impression on you guys," I stuttered. What kind of bad excuse was that?

"Well, all right, if you say so."

Sandman piped up.

"You'll be taking all of it off anyway. We're headed out to get you your gear. We're getting you a new uniform, vest, loadout, whatever you want."

We all went over to various rooms to pick up what I needed.

"All right, let's set you up with some more… operator clothing. Those crappy ACUs have got to go, they're way outta season," Grinch teased, going through the assorted apparel and looking for my size.

He held up a set of Multicam pants and an Army Combat Shirt to be worn beneath vests and whatnot.

"How are these? Tactical, amirite?"

I was a giant Multicam fan, I'll admit it. Super cool pattern if you ask me. Of course I took them. Frost came in to bring me to the next room.

"So, we're gonna get you some new kit. We don't have to wear standard issue in Delta. We have all kinds of cool rigs here, if you'd like I'll help pick them out. Try to set it up the way that makes sense. Use your head."

I nodded and watched as he looked for something suitable. After a minute he showed me what he found.

"This right here is a Crye JPC. It's a bit different from the kind of plate carrier you had in the Rangers, these are lighter if you ask me. I think Air Force guys use it…"

I panicked a bit. I hated the armor I had, it was way too heavy. This still looked like a bitch to wear. It would work better on a stocky, beefy guy like Sandman. Not my tiny-ass frame.

"Uhh, you have anything lighter?" I asked.

"Well, if you're looking for a vest, then no. I thought you would considering that you're used to that. How about a chest rig then?"

A chest rig! I always wanted one, they looked so much nicer to wear than armor. Less protection but more speed. After choosing that I started choosing other light gear to follow suit.

I decided to configure the rig to carry mostly ammo. I wore a small pack which had all of my medic stuff in it plus my hydration carrier. I chose to wear a single knee pad on my right leg, because that was the knee I kneeled on. I had a drop-leg holster to carry whatever handgun I wanted. I didn't know back then, being new, but professionals keep stuff off their legs and hips. A pair of combat boots which were much more comfortable than the regular Army type now protected my feet. I also picked up a pair of Oakley SI Assault gloves, which had hard knuckles, and chopped off the trigger finger of the right one. As for headgear, I never actually liked to wear my Kevlar, so I just wore the radio headset over my hair. I wouldn't have done this in the Rangers, that's for sure.

Next came getting a weapon. I nearly asked for the typical plain old M4A1 and M9 pair, but realized where I was and the goodies I could get.

"You need to choose a light weapon and a medium weapon depending on the mission. Use what makes the most sense. The right tool for the job," Truck advised.

So from here on out I decided to mostly run an MP7 as my primary. Out of a lot of weapons, I preferred it the most. As for my longer-ranged weapon, I went for something that I was more familiar with. Back in the Rangers we used the SCAR-H sometimes (Ramirez sure liked his) so I took its little brother, the SCAR-L. As for my handgun, I used a USP .45 suppressed in case I needed to be quiet. Not like I'd be good at that.

I was being stupid. Using weapons I was unfamiliar with for the wrong purposes, and not having trained in them. Were they trying to teach me a lesson?

Everyone came together and waited for me to change. As I fumbled with the uniform, I remembered that I just wanted to wear my T-shirt. Then again, I was covered in evidence of the night before, and my shirt's neck was kind of stretched out. Ahh screw it. I decided to just run the tee anyway.

I came out and braced myself for the reactions.

"I see you're going for the high-speed low-drag option," Sandman coughed, trying not to call any attention to anything else.

"Well, you sure look the part. Your arms are a bit more built than I expected, then again, most female soldiers are a bit stronger than their civilian counterparts," Truck observed.

Grinch giggled a bit.

"Nice hickeys, Moore. You the squad hooker?" he teased only to get a fist in the gut from Frost.

"Dude, don't be an asshole," Frost snapped.

He observed me intently.

"You look… cute."

He noticed my red face and then turned a light shade of pink himself.

"I-I mean, in like a soldierish kinda way. Like, you are pretty for an operator. Tactical," he stuttered.

So much for stoic. Or smooth.

"Oh yeah! You need a callsign, right!?" Frost mentioned.

"I know Grinch's comment was rude and out of line, but if you ask me, something like that might make an interesting callsign," Sandman agreed.

"It's still too derogatory," Truck added. "How about 'Hook?'"

I thought about it for a second. It kinda suited me. After all, my name was Moore. Moor, like a dock or a pier. Which you fish off of.

Can't really justify it very well, now can I?

"Sure, why not?"

From then on, my name was officially Private First Class Jenna "Hook" Moore. On the radio I would also be called Metal 0-5.

The intercom turned on and started broadcasting a message.

"Team Metal, Team Metal, report to the briefing room. I say again, Team Metal to the briefing room."

Game time.

* * *

_Cpl. Natalia Petrova_

The Russian military suffered a crushing defeat at Washington, DC, but still had a chance of keeping their presence on US soil. They still had a foothold on New York, a major American city.

Natalia was busy recovering from her injury. She sat in her hospital bed, staring at the scar where the American bullet hit her. It so turned out that if that Yankee medic didn't fix her up, she wouldn't have survived. It took a long time to get her to the nearest field hospital, even longer to get her to the hospital ship she was on.

She was still salty about it but had respect for the female US soldier and appreciated her help. A bit of kindness still existed in the world.

Natalia had been complaining that she was ready to be back in the fight, but the personnel were trying to stop her, insisting she needed to rest. Bullshit. She wanted to end the war already.

A familiar person came to visit her. It was Sgt. Pavel Ivanovich Koslov, the man who came to rescue her while she was a POW.

"Hey, Petrova. You up for combat again?" he asked, standing at the foot of the bed. "Most of the Russian military is prepping for an invasion of Europe, however, my men and I have a different task."

"What is that?"

"It's rumored that President Vorshevsky wants peace with the Americans. We're out to find the man who was in charge of the massacre that started the war in the first place, Vladimir Makarov."

"Makarov!?" Natalia exclaimed, sitting up. "Definitely sir, I was getting tired of fighting the Americans anyway!"

_Plus, I want to make that cocksucker eat his own shit after what he's started…_

Sgt. Koslov took her out of the room and out onto the deck.

"Look at that," he said, pointing at the Statue of Liberty standing proudly in the distance. "This place is the American pride and joy. I don't know what makes the brass think they can hold it. Not only are we losing morale, the Americans are also intense patriots and will get it back no matter what."

Natalia nodded and looked around. She could have lived here at some point if she wasn't drafted.

"Let's go back inside, our chopper isn't going to show up for a while," Koslov suggested.

"Yes sir."

* * *

After the briefing, Team Metal got into a Humvee. They were going through New York along with a Stryker battalion as support to take out the jammer.

Jenna sat back and decided to take a nap. She was extremely tired due to her night with Ramirez and decided to catch up on her sleep. Plus, she felt extremely awkward sitting next to her crush, Frost.

She plugged a pair of earbuds into her iPod and turned it on. She was in the mood for some Versa for some reason.

Sometime later, someone screaming a familiar, dreaded word awoke her.

"RPG!"

_AW, FUCK!_

The projectile slammed into the ground near the Humvee on her side, flipping it over. Everything went black just then.

* * *

**Wow, where did I get the motivation to put out another chapter this early? I think it's because I need to get something out before school starts.**

**Ooh, we finally got a real "love" scene. Sorry if it sucked, it's not something I'm used to writing. Don't worry, I haven't sunken the Jenna X Frost ship yet! I just feel like poor James needed a bit of action before he parted with Jenna.**

**It begins! Our heroine is finally alongside her crush! Where is it going to go now? What will happen in the future! Only one way to find out, tune in and get ready, because World War III has started.**

**As for Natalia, we finally get to hear from her again. She isn't going to be anywhere near Jenna for a while, instead she'll be fighting her own war, a war for the truth. **

**Sorry if you don't like the slight military p0rn I put in, I've just been waiting for the moment to start using some. If you're not into that, skip it.**

**I forgot to mention or even suggest that Frost tries to be stoic. He has multiple sides and all you've really seen is his kind side and his smooth side. You didn't see the part where he still had the scene hair coming, did you?**

"**Oh wow, so inaccurate-" SHUT UP THIS IS COD SINCE WHEN WAS IT REALISTIC?**

**Anyway, any CoD fic needs a bit of suspension of disbelief. Plus, it's a bit more justifiable in that Delta Force operators get more leeway in regulations. (Think of all the bearded spec ops guys out there.)**

**The reason I renamed this chapter is because the song I named it after is what I could imagine being a theme for the first season/MW2 arc if this fic was some kind of show or anime or something. "Am I the Enemy" by RJA would be the theme for the second season/MW3 arc.**

**I'll actually admit it now, this fic's concept was "CoD: MW: The Anime, Shoved Into a Blender!"**

**The Battle of New York is coming, brace yourselves.**


	12. Stock Market Crash

**Look where we are now, you guys. We're finally getting into the MW3 arc and I couldn't have done it without your support. Thank you very much, and I hope that we get more popularity as we go. We need a snowball effect going. Spread the word of this to as many CoD fans as you can, guys, I want this to actually be known.**

**Oh, and PLENTY PLENTY PLENTY of thanks to Ghost509 and Prettyprincess45 for adding this to their communities. You are definitely helping out and I appreciate it very much. My motivation is off the charts.**

**Pfft, you guys seem to expect Moore/Ramirez and Petrova/Frost. I may or may not do that, but expect the unexpected when it comes to me.**

**UPDATE: Thanks to Ranger Danger 11 (at least that's his current name) for the encouragement and advice. Go check him out, he's really good, better than me at least. So turns out he's starting a similar fic too, according to what is up now it's more or less how he expected this to go. It's likely to be better than this trash.**

**(By the way RD11, if you're not a guy I apologize. I'm making an educated guess here.)**

**Well, here we go. 2****nd**** chapter of our adventures in MW3.**

* * *

_Black Tuesday_

_August 22, 2016_

_Delta Force_

_Manhattan, New York_

Frost groaned as he pressed his head against his seat and rubbed his eyes. The Humvee was turned on its side and he could hear pissed-off Russians exchanging fire with his buddies outside.

His eyes suddenly widened and his heartbeat picked up. Someone was lying right in front of him in a very awkward position.

The new chick in the squad was sitting on his right when the RPG hit, apparently her seatbelt released and now here she was, practically in his lap.

He smacked the back of her head. No result. Guess he had to do this the old-fashioned way.

He felt for the seatbelt release and pressed it, releasing himself. Sandman had already cut off his belt and was out of the Humvee.

Frost gingerly climbed up to the door, taking care that he wouldn't step on the unconscious girl slumped on the bottom of the Humvee. He took his M4A1 and threw it out onto the street as a missile slammed into a building above, throwing pieces of debris everywhere. One chunk of building landed near the wreckage, shaking Frost and almost sending him tumbling back into the vehicle.

He wrapped his arms around the other soldier, trying to pull her out. It was no use! He was way too weak for it. So much for being a reliable operator. Frustrated, he took her weapon and jumped off the Humvee. His arms fumbled for the rifle he had tossed out earlier, and he grabbed it off the dusty ground.

Jenna awoke at the bottom of the Humvee. Her weapon was missing, and so was everyone else. They were probably outside already. She shook her head, a few particles of rubble flying out from her brunette hair.

She made her way to the door, opened it, and looked outside. They were under fire! In an attempt to hurry, she tried jumping out but ended up tripping, falling off and landing in a heap on the ground, seeing an upside-down Frost waiting.

"Heads up, Hook!" he yelled, tossing her MP7 over. She tried to catch it but ended up getting hit in the face with it.

She fumbled with the PDW, finally holding it the right way in her hands. She reached into a pouch on her rig and slid out a magazine, locking it into the weapon.

Sandman looked back at the two and nodded.

"The jammer's 500 meters from here! We'll leg it from here! Let's go!" he shouted.

Frost dashed after Sandman, and Jenna picked herself up and ran after them. Truck and Grinch met up and continued alongside them.

A few guys were already waiting, returning fire from cover.

Sandman, Truck, Grinch, Frost, and Jenna continued moving, clearing the street of Russians sending hot lead flying back. Suddenly, a GAZ-2975 vehicle smashed through the lines, screeching to a stop. Its mounted machine gun opened fire on the Delta operators, who quickly slipped to cover.

Frost promptly took his XM25 and fired it at the gunner. The round burst, sending the gunner to his doom.

Upon running past the vehicle, they encountered a convoy of Strykers and their Ranger escorts.

"Friendlies! Hold your fire!" Sandman said.

Grinch raised his MK14.

"That means don't shoot 'em, Grinch," Truck muttered.

He lowered his rifle and replied, "No shit."

They continued down the street, going for the exchange on the left.

A bunch of enemies were holed up in a pile of rubble blocking the street. They rose, opening fire on the Americans. One Ranger was hit, and Jenna made her way over to him.

She dragged him back to cover and started administering first aid.

"What's your name?" she asked, pulling off her pack and placing it on the ground.

"Uh, Grant. Private Grant," he winced, clutching his side.

Jenna bit her lip.

"W-what's wrong?"

"Nothing, you'll be all right."

_Yeah, this isn't looking good at all, _Jenna thought.

An Ultranationalist appeared, holding his weapon from the hip and slowly approaching. Jenna noticed and slipped her USP .45 variant from her holster.

"EAT THIS, BITCH!" she screamed, getting up from cover and popping off a few shots. One lucky round made it to the soldier's neck, quickly killing him.

She looked back at Grant, who at this point was rapidly breathing.

"Dammit! Stay with me, come on, hold on just a bit longer!" Jenna pleaded, trying her best.

He stopped breathing, and after administering CPR but failing, she threw her pack against the concrete barrier next to her in frustration. Something rolled out and caught her eye.

A small tube sat on the ground, with a flashy label reading, "1-Up." Jenna chuckled, getting the obvious reference.

She quickly grabbed it and opened it up. The package revealed a small syringe and a tiny slip of paper with the instructions on it.

_Hey, soldier. Hurry up and read this before your patient dies. Anyway, I'm gonna tell you how to __wake them up inside I MEAN __bring them to life__._

_1\. Take off cover_

_2\. Jam into neck (For maximum effect moan)*_

_3\. Profit_

_DISCLAIMER: 1-Up does not bring the dead back to life. It instead should be used on an immediate casualty without signs of life but with a chance of conventional revival._

"Well, here goes nothing," Jenna mumbled, following the instructions.

Frost looked away from his rifle for a second to see Hook kneeling over someone, moving her arm and making interesting noises.

"Uh… Hook? What are you doing?"

Grant's eyes flew open as he sat up and inhaled a gulp of air. Both soldiers immediately looked at Frost, whose face was overcome with horror.

"What the fuc-"

Jenna and Grant looked at each other, then back at Frost, shaking their heads profusely. Jenna started blushing really hard in the process.

"I-it's not what you think!" Grant sheepishly said.

Suddenly, an enemy helicopter entered the airspace and spun up its guns.

"Heads up! Bird incoming!" Truck yelled.

"Get off the street! Go right, go right!" Sandman ordered.

The Delta soldiers sprinted inside as rounds started pounding the dirt. Panting, they leaned against the wall to take a quick breather.

Jenna took the instructions for the 1-Up injection out again and read the fine print at the bottom.

_* just kidding, that was a joke. The scientists here at Kriegler like to bring of humor to the fight. After all, laughter is the best medicine._

She had never facepalmed as hard in her entire life up until this moment. Fucking hell.

While everyone else was grabbing ammunition and such from a nearby crate, Jenna tried to explain what happened to Frost.

"What's a 1-Up? It revives people? I doubt we have that in our inventory, we all would have them in that case," he sneered.

"B-but I swear, it's real! Look, here are the instructions!" Jenna whined, holding the slip of paper up.

"Uhh… I don't see anything there. I think you hit your head too hard, Hook."

"So what's the gameplan?" Truck asked.

"Same as before. Burn the jammer, kill the bad guys," Sandman replied.

"I like it," Grinch added.

They jogged up the stairs, eyes open for tangoes. Sandman and Frost went to the door and got into position. Sandman kicked open the door and slipped out of the "fatal funnel" as Frost made his way in. It was important to stay out of the doorway while opening it in case someone was waiting on the other side.

Some parts of the building were reduced to rubble, and Jenna carefully treaded across it, making sure she didn't trip. A few hostiles waited in what used to be a room with a TV, but Sandman promptly dropped them.

"Maintain the timeline, we need to hit the exchange," he mumbled, slapping a new mag into his weapon.

At the bottom of the staircase was a door leading into an alleyway.

"Multiple voices, alley behind the door. Frost, toss a nine-banger," Sandman whispered.

_Come on, why does it have to be me all the time? _Frost complained in his mind.

He pulled the pin, nudged open the door, and flung the canister outside. A small series of flashes went off, and the guys took care of the rest.

_Damn, this is too easy. I don't have to do shit, _Jenna thought.

She realized that she didn't actually have a mag in her piece ever since they restocked earlier. She stopped and tried to open one of her mag pouches, but it wouldn't budge. The rest kept moving, oblivious to the fact that they were leaving her behind.

"Shooters in the store below. Switch 'em off?" Grinch asked.

"Roger that," Sandman agreed.

The Delta operators began emptying their weapons into the soldiers below. Frost shouldered his XM25 and followed suit.

A lone Russian approached Moore, clutching his knife.

"God! Finally!" Jenna rolled her eyes, turning the magazine over in her hand.

The Russian placed his left hand on her right shoulder, spinning her around and seeing the astonishment in her eyes. He got ready to plunge his knife into her now-exposed torso. She quickly ducked, holding up her left arm to push his hand away so she had time to grasp her weapon. She span clockwise, slipping the ammo into the PDW and made a full turn, pulling the trigger and shooting at the assailant.

He stopped leaned back, kicking Jenna in the back and making her stumble. She whipped around, aiming her gun straight at the Russian, but he dashed forward and easily knocked it out of her hands.

By now, her previous brawling experience kicked in. Dodging the next knife swing, Jenna let her hard-knuckled glove collide with the soldier's face.

As all of this was happening, the rest of Team Metal was busy mopping up Russians. Frost then realized that something was missing.

"Hook… where's Hook?" he thought out loud. "OH SHIT!"

The enemy stumbled back, rubbing his cheek. He suddenly charged and pinned Jenna to the wall, throwing all of his weight onto her. While she was still dazed, he spun her around and twisted her arm behind her back, triggering a scream of pain.

"Heh, nice try, bitch," he mocked in a heavily-accented voice.

Noticing the sidearm in the American's holster, the soldier grabbed it and held it to Jenna's head. He was about to pull the trigger when one of her comrades appeared, pointing his carbine straight at him. The Russian prepared to finish her off.

_Dammit! What am I supposed to do now!? _Frost thought.

* * *

_Ob' class hospital ship, Russian Navy_

Natalia squinted as the rotor backwash from the helicopter impacted her, the blades beating the air. She had to keep her hand on her head to stop her VDV beret from being blown into the gray water.

The crew chief on the MI-17 helped Natalia in. Sgt. Koslov jumped in from the other side. The two sat next to each other, even though they wouldn't be able to talk over the deafening rotors.

The crew chief went over to the pilot and said something to her, and then he took two headsets and gave them to Natalia and Koslov.

"Had to ask whether it was okay to give these to you. They don't mind if you chat. We're pretty cool with this kind of stuff," the man said.

After flight checks were over the chopper took off and started flying away from the fleet. Natalia could see the explosions and anti-aircraft fire over Manhattan from where they were.

"Huh, I'm sorry. Doesn't seem like we've introduced ourselves. You see, we're gonna be flying your missions from here on out," the crew chief continued. "Name's Dmitri Volkov. The pilot is Tasha Pavelovna, and the co-pilot is Irina Fedorova. It's kinda weird working with women, y'know?"

"Ahh, shut up. You're just butthurt you couldn't hook up with us," Irina responded. She leaned out from behind the seat and rolled her eyes, her smirk obscured by the balaclava she was wearing.

The pilot continued without taking her eyes off the instruments and the sky.

"Watch out before he hits on you. Don't wanna be stuck in a cramped chopper alone with a guy with a pedostache," Tasha joked.

"So, uhh, who else are we going to be working with?" Natalia inquired, her eyes locked intently on Koslov.

"Let's see, remember Privates Alex Kaminski and Sergei Kuznetsov? You were with them in DC. Saved their lives, seems like you left a positive impression," he replied.

"Just the four of us?"

"No. There's a guy from another Spetsnaz unit though. Corporal Peter Chernenko."

Natalia took a sharp gasp. _That _guy.

* * *

_I think I can pull this off, _Frost thought. He had a reputation of being an amazing shot with his right hand, the _operator right hand _they called it.

"All right, I'm putting it down. I'm putting the gun on the ground. Я положил пистолет на землю," he said clearly, setting down his M4.

The Russian stared at him, sneered, and shook his head. His finger moved to the trigger of the pistol as he prepared to execute Jenna.

"Motherfucker, wrong move," Frost grunted, promptly drawing his M1911 and firing nonchalantly.

The round impacted the hostile soldier in the neck, and he clutched his throat and struggled on the ground.

Jenna walked up to him and started repeatedly kicking him, much like she did to people she beat up in her younger days. She kept kicking him until he went limp and his bloody hands dropped to his sides, a twisted expression of pain on his face.

"T-thanks. I, uh-"

Frost interrupted her with a slap to the cheek, knocking her off balance momentarily. Scowling, he grabbed her by one of her straps and pulled her closer.

"You fucking idiot. That's the kinda shit that'll not just get your stupid ass killed, but possibly the rest of us. If you need to stop for whatever reason, you need to give us a heads-up, you got it?"

"I'm s-sorry, I won't..."

"Sorry doesn't cut it. Sorry won't bring you back. Instead of apologizing, actually make up for it. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Sergeant," Jenna mumbled, shamefully averting her eyes. "Also, um... thank you."

Frost rubbed the back of his helmet.

"Don't fuck up again, just make sure to stay with us. It's all in a day's work. Not anything personal, I did it 'cause it's what I had to do," he muttered.

Nothing personal, right?

"Anyway, let's get back in the fight. And I swear, if you get lost again and I have to bail your sorry ass out then you'll regret it."

Jenna nodded and went after him back to Sandman, Truck, and Grinch who were waiting for them. Frost explained and Sandman grumbled, "You gotta stay with us, Hook. Don't compromise the mission."

The store was clear and Team Metal ran out onto the street.

"Hold fire, Anvil Team approaching!" Sandman yelled.

He started talking to an operator named "Grizzly."

"Anybody hit?"

"We're good!"

"What's the sit-rep on midtown?"

"The Russians have it locked down. They're kicking our ass! We can't get through!"

"Any word on air support?"

"Still nothing! Guidance systems are scrambled! We need to get that jammer down!"

The Delta men kept moving up Wall Street. They stopped at an intersection littered with destroyed Strykers. A tattered American flag clung to the stock exchange, barely holding on but still there, much like the Americans themselves.

"We'll secure the lobby while you hit the trading floor," Grizzly said.

"Roger that. Metal, let's roll," Sandman responded.

They ran up the escalators into a room filled with screens. Jenna looked up and noticed that stocks were dropping for everything except these weird companies she had never heard of. What the heck was Infinity Ward?

"Contact!" Truck yelled, opening fire.

Jenna groaned. More Russians. There were like, a million of them.

She stayed back but made sure to keep the others in sight as the started clearing the room. After all, she was a medic, not a shooter.

Hot lead was flying everywhere and she threw herself to the ground, trying to take cover.

"Dammit! There's too many of 'em!" she complained, taking her MP7 and firing it at anything not wearing Multicam. "I'm pinned!"

"All right Hook, I'll cover ya!" Truck replied, getting up and using his MK46 on the Ultranationalists.

Jenna quickly slid to cover where Truck and Grinch were returning fire.

"You guys all right?" she asked.

"I'm all good, baby!" Grinch responded.

"Damn, if you don't get hurt, what am I here for?" Jenna laughed. "Decoration?"

"Moving, cover me!" Truck said.

"I'm on it!"

"All right, Hook, I'm moving. Spray that sucker like there's no tomorrow!" Grinch yelled, charging away.

Frost noticed Jenna wondering what to do and said, "Hook! On me! Cover to cover!"

He sprinted up and tapped her on the shoulder as she continued after him. Frost slammed himself against the desk he was hiding behind and Jenna dove toward him.

She was breathing quickly and had a giant smile plastered on her face from the exhilarating experience.

"I have no idea why, but that was fun!" she giggled. "Let's do it again!"

"Geez, you're an idiot! All right, see those crates over there? Ladies first, let's go!" Frost said, nudging Jenna.

A Russian tried to melee Frost as he moved but Jenna quickly dropped him with her MP7.

"Thanks for the assist, he almost got me."

"No prob."

The operators ran up the stairs and started making their way through scaffolding to the roof.

"Hook, up the ladder. We're on your six," Sandman ordered.

Jenna began climbing up the bars.

"Well, ladies first I guess," Grinch whistled.

The four watched as she took point, the PDW dangling near her hip. Grinch was enjoying the view, Frost was trying his best not to stare at her ass, Truck politely waited, and Sandman watched the stairs.

"Uh, Boss? Why did you send the rookie on point?"

"...well, shit."

Jenna peeked out at the roof just as a helicopter passed. She got up and quickly made her way behind a ventilation unit for cover. A few Russians started coming down the stairs and she emptied her weapon into them.

"Uh, guys? A little help?" she called toward the ladder.

"Calm down, we're coming up."

"Keep moving! The jammer's up on the second tier! Frost, put thermite on the jammer's power supply! We'll cover!"

Frost silently nodded, tapping the pouch on his vest containing the thermite to make sure it was still there.

He ran up the stairs, leaped over some sandbags, and with the fifteen rounds left in his mag took out the remaining enemies.

"Clear!"

Frost strutted over to the tower and secured the charges, then walked away with detonator in hand.

"Burn it, Frost!" Sandman urged.

The tower's bottom set ablaze and it plummeted to the bottom of the roof.

"Eat that, bitches!" Jenna screamed.

"Adios," Grinch muttered.

"Overlord, this is Metal Zero-One! Target neutralized! Do you read me?" Sandman radioed.

A moshpit of radio conversations filled everyone's ears, and a few grateful radio operators thanked them.

"Roger, 0-1. All systems are operational. We're sending a Black Hawk to your location for exfil, three minutes," Overlord responded.

"Why does he sound different now?" Jenna said to herself.

"ISR is back online. We are detecting multiple hostiles on the rooftops in your area. You now have OPCON of a fully armed Predator."

"No need to say it, I'm on it," Frost immediately announced, opening up a computer and beginning to rain explosions down on the nearby buildings.

"Heh, you do it better than James used to," Jenna commented, watching two guys fly off a rooftop, screaming.

"Hind incoming! Knock it outta the sky!" Sandman yelled.

And a few seconds later the missile collided with the aircraft, sending it to its fiery doom.

The Blackhawk got into position near the edge of the building.

"Here's our exfil! Load up! Load up!"

The guys jumped off the railing and into the helicopter with ease, just like the million times they did it before. But Jenna hesitated, afraid to jump.

"For the love of-" Frost snapped, holding out his hand and helping her into the chopper.

"Confirm, five eagles on bird, exfil complete," the pilot drawled.

Frost got on one of the guns while Jenna strapped herself into one of the center seats.

"Hold on, we're going vertical!" said Sandman.

Frost spun up his minigun and started raining sweet death upon some poor Russkies on a nearby rooftop as the chopper started moving.

"Metal 0-1, standby for new mission directive, over," Overlord radioed.

"Roger, Overlord. Send it."

"We have multiple Russian war ships near our ports. We sent the SEALs to assault the command vessel. Proceed to New York Harbor to assist."

"Copy your last."

"Metal 0-1, be advised. We're seeing multiple enemy rotor-wings in your airspace."

"Oh shit," Jenna muttered.

"Enemy bird, incoming!" Truck screamed.

Two Hinds entered the airspace, firing wildly at the Blackhawk.

Frost gritted his teeth.

"Come get some, bitches."

* * *

**Oh, what's that? CHAPTER! You guys deserve it!**

**So I'm just gonna say it here, in this story I would be using the correct weapons and whatnot, but I decided not to so most average readers who are plain CoD fans would understand and not get butthurt over my use of weapons that aren't in-game. That being said, I tried to make things as accurate as possible. I never refer to the "AK-47" as such, because the in-game variant is definitely not a dinosaur like the real 47.**

**So as you can see, Jenna's choice of the MP7 wasn't the wisest for the mission. Don't blame her, she's a newbie, haha. That part is rooted in reality. Delta's sister unit, the SEALs, occasionally use the MP7 suppressed. (In fact, the author of**_** No Easy Day**_**, you know, that one book about killing Bin Laden, actually had an MP7 to use every now and then.)**

**You can also see how she can brawl. Trust me, this girl's got waaaay more experience than you think. Obviously, though, her physical strength isn't the best, and she almost lost out to the Russian guy.**

**Oh yeah, it's nice to hear from Natalia again! Yep, I'm not gonna put her against US forces like I did in the last arc. Too predictable. I'll have her fighting Makarov's forces straight-on instead.**

**Uh oh, looks like she has to work with Peter again. That oughta end well.**

**I hope someone gets the reference to another CoD I made when naming the pilot. There's a Russian female sniper in Finest Hour named Tanya Pavelovna. (Fun fact- she was the first playable female in the CoD series… EVER.) My headcanon says that Tasha is a descendant of Tanya.**

**On the topic of headcanons, there are a few things I never mentioned in earlier chapters. Remember when Ramirez and Moore were on the White House lawn and jumped into a crater? I can imagine them landing in an awkward position.**

**The 1-Up thing might be a bit supernatural in nature, as you can tell. No telling when it'll pop up. Whatever it is, it's probably just some weird shell-shock related thing. Maybe Jenna just imagined it. **

**That has been the first _Kriegler_ reference! I can't believe I've stooped this low.**

**(If you don't get the joke, Kriegler is a name that shows up a lot on random things in the MW series.)**

**The term _operator right hand _may or may not be a reference to Seiji Sawamura's "demon right hand" in _Midori no Hibi. _(Did someone say "possible crossover?" Who knows, I might even have an early draft on my flash drive!)**

**This is a long A/N but I wanna keep talking. Deal with it. Deal with it like you have to deal with the strange, strange love triangle between Jenna, James, and Derek. (Gasp. First name finally mentioned.)**

**Poor Natalia hasn't gotten her pairing yet. Look forward to that.**

**My friend is making some fanart for me, and it's gonna be really cool from what I hear. And if you guys wanna do that too… fine by me. *cough cough***

**And if you need any appearance details for any characters I'll be glad to provide 'em. **_**Just saying.**_

**Anyhoo, read, review, follow, fav, whatever you like. Tell me why my fic sucks so hard. I don't care. Feedback is nice.**

**Well, peace out. Or war in. Whatever floats your boat. I don't care!**


	13. That Sinking Feeling

**What's that? Did someone say… *drumroll* CHAPTER!? That's right kids, the Jenna and Natalia Show is here! After the break.**

**Recently, we've broken 3,000 views! That's right! A minor milestone that no one should care about, amiright?**

**Meh. Guess it's something.**

**I should probably shut up and let you guys read, huh. Fine. Not that I like you or anything… b-baka.**

* * *

_Trans-Atlantic Flight_

_August 22, 2016_

_Cpl. Natalia Petrova_

_VDV Spetsnaz_

_Mil MI-17, 4,000M ASL, Atlantic Ocean_

Natalia glanced at the AKS-74 she was cradling in her arms as the chopper hung in the air above the ocean below. Not much was going on other than that chatter of the aircrew and such.

"Carrier_ Vladimir Putin, _this is Archangel 1-2, approaching from your west, requesting permission to land, over," Tasha spoke into the headset.

"Roger that, 1-2. You are cleared for landing on the starboard landing pad, we'll guide you in," came the reply.

A jet took off from the carrier and roared in the distance, the distinctive Russian Red Star painted on its wings.

"What's going on? Why are we landing?" Natalia asked.

"Well, we can't fly this thing across the ocean, of course not. We're stopping off here to pick up some people, refuel, and continue to our last remaining airfield in Virginia. After that we're catching a plane over to our outpost in Pakistan," Dmitri Volkov explained.

Natalia was about to ask about the last thing he said but they had to hurry and get out.

The personnel on the helicopter stepped off and walked across the deck as the flight deck crew darted to the aircraft to maintain it. Natalia looked around, seeing nothing but the Atlantic all around.

A sailor who was guiding them beckoned the Russians to enter the ship. He led them to the room where they had to wait as their helicopter was under maintenance and refueling.

Natalia sat alone with Sergeant Koslov as the chopper crew went to the showers to freshen up.

"Why is it so hot in here?" Koslov complained, fanning himself with a newspaper he found on the table.

Natalia silently agreed but wanted to leave a good impression.

"You know, it's all right to take off the jacket. I'm cool with my men doing stuff like that."

Natalia exhaled in relief. She unfastened the urban camouflaged top and set it on the seat, revealing her light blue striped Spetsnaz _telnyashka _undershirt_. _She stood up and stretched, after all, the flight wasn't the most comfy.

A sharp pain sounded off in her thigh, and she grabbed it in pain, remembering that she had an injury there. She slid down her pants a little to check on it, and saw the bandage turning a bit redder than it was before.

All the while Koslov was trying not to stare at Natalia's boobs or anything like that. He did, however, catch a glimpse of her underwear. Awkward.

"So, uhh, how long have you been in?" Natalia asked him.

Koslov jumped, not expecting her to speak up.

"About five years or so. That is, in the Ultranationalist army. I was in the Loyalist Russian army for the civil war."

"Really? Tell me about it."

He rubbed his forehead, remembering a few nasty memories he picked up. He began to speak.

"Well, my family has had a long tradition of military service. My great-grandfather fought in the Great Patriotic War. His name was Vasili Ivanovich Koslov, and when he started fighting in 1941, he was only nineteen years old. When I was a little kid my grandfather would tell me all about how he was born. Vasili met a female soldier during the Battle of Stalingrad and fell in love with her, unfortunately, she was killed in action not too soon after. After the fighting was over, he ended up meeting her sister, and that was more or less how he met my grandfather's mother."

"Huh," Natalia sighed.

"Yeah. My grandfather was born sometime after the war and joined sometime in the late sixties. He never got to do much, actually, due to the Cold War. My dad did get to fight in Afghanistan. When I was of age, of course I had to join the military. I was young and naïve, I mean, the world seemed fine at the time, so being in the army wouldn't have been that bad, right? Well, obviously, I was very wrong. The second Civil War came around and my unit ended up fighting alongside some British S.A.S. soldiers."

"S.A.S.!?"

"Yeah. I never actually got their names, nor could I understand anything they said. But here's something interesting. You hear of those two men wanted by the United States for treason? They killed a general or something. Their names are John Price and John MacTavish. I thought they looked familiar. It so turned out that those were two of the S.A.S. men we fought alongside."

"How do you know?"

Koslov leaned forward a bit.

"My CO was a guy named Sergeant Kamarov. I'm still in contact with him. Apparently, he still knows the two Brits. All I can tell you for now is that we'll be seeing a lot of them in the near future," he finished.

Natalia was ready to ask more questions, but a sailor walked in and a handful of familiar soldiers entered the room.

"P-Petrova? Never thought I'd see you again! As soon as I heard you were a part of this task force I immediately volunteered, you know, pay you back for DC!" Pvt. Kaminski grinned.

"Same here. We barely made it out, you know. Some American special ops guys found us in the streets and turned us over to Russian forces for some reason," Kuznetsov added.

Natalia smiled at the two for a few seconds before noticing the last guy in the corner of the room. She balled her fists and glared at him.

"Hey. I knew we'd cross paths again, huh, _Natalie?"_

* * *

Frost's knuckles turned white as he spun up the minigun, waiting for one of these idiot Russkies to get in his way.

"Stay on him! Stay on him!" Truck yelled as the gun started spewing its payload into the air.

The chopper stopped to let the gunner fire at the two enemy aircraft, which were flying precariously between two buildings. The Russians fired a few rockets, and the pilot wisely took the Blackhawk forward to avoid them.

"Tally target, right side high!" he said.

Frost sprayed into the cockpit of the first one, the glass visibly splattered with red from where he could see. He turned to the next one, tearing apart its rotors as it tumbled through the air.

They were near a building under construction, and Jenna could have sworn she saw a guy cowering in a porta-potty.

Suddenly, yet another Hind came up behind the girders, ready to kill the entire helicopter.

"Hold on, banking left!" the pilot calmly stated. How was he this cool-headed?

Frost fired at the Hind through the skeleton of the building, most of his shots blocked by the steel in his way.

"Frost, can you get a bead on him?" Sandman asked as the Blackhawk started chasing the enemy.

_So many people talking at once, just shut up and let me work, please! _Frost complained in his head.

The engines exploded, and the hostile chopper started spinning out of control. Frost cheered, that is, until the spinning thing headed straight for him.

The Russian bird collided with the American one and Frost held on to the mounted gun for dear life as he was thrown outside, the Blackhawk going down.

"FROST!" Jenna screamed at the top of her lungs, unfastening herself and trying to pull him back in.

As soon as she got off her seat, she immediately got sucked out herself, flailing in an attempt to grab something. She closed her eyes and awaited her imminent death…

Which didn't come. Her hand was grabbed by Frost's free hand. He looked into her hazel eyes, his other arm holding onto the minigun.

"I've still got pressure in the pedals!" the pilot grunted. "Come on, you son of a bitch!"

Sandman helped Frost in from his position, who promptly pulled Jenna in. She smiled and thanked him, but he probably didn't hear her.

_Frost... saved me. He cares, doesn't he? _was among the thoughts that ran through her head.

"Hey! Don't give me that look! I was about to fucking die! Next time, don't be stupid! I can handle myself perfectly fine!" Frost snapped.

The chopper leveled and regained control.

"Torque feels okay! Tail rotor effective, hydraulics holding. Collective and pitch sat'. Fuel 70 percent," the pilot said.

Sandman exhaled, sat back up, and got back on the comms.

"Overlord, this is 0-1, we're en route to the harbor, over."

"Roger, 0-1, the skies are clear. Good luck. Out."

* * *

Jenna, Frost, Truck, and Grinch got off the helicopter as Sandman talked to someone on the radio. Jenna squinted, trying not to let any of the debris from the rotor wash into her eyes.

Soon enough, Sandman jumped off as the crew chief took two green crates and threw them out.

"Kit up, boys," he said, gesturing to the boxes.

"Where's our infil point?" Grinch piped up.

"Brooklyn-Battery Tunnel."

"I thought it collapsed," Truck added.

"It did."

Frost looked over and saw the panic in Hook's face. It was kinda funny, actually.

He turned around and nodded at Sandman.

"No sweat," he said, giving a thumbs-up.

Sandman proceeded to open the first large container, revealing some wetsuits, scuba gear, and some MP5s, one for each person.

"We got an extra MP5," Frost muttered, scratching his head.

Jenna checked to see if she had any ammo left for her MP7. None.

"Toss it over."

The men started changing without a second thought. The one woman looked away, trying to ignore them.

"Y-you know what, I'll j-just go over there, all right?" she stuttered.

Frost zipped up the load-bearing vest and looked around. There she was. He saw Hook some distance away in her underwear, struggling to get into the wetsuit.

Yeah, she wasn't… *ahem* "well endowed" or anything (in fact, poor girl was on the smaller end of the Bravo-cup) but Frost had to admit that was a nice ass.

Damn, she looked hot.

He slapped his forehead and looked away. What the hell? Half of his thoughts were utter crack.

"Boss... I know we really needed a replacement for Doc. But something's off here. I knew we shouldn't have taken up on the offer to take her in," Grinch muttered, tapping his foot.

"I hate to agree, but she's somewhat dragging this mission down," Truck added. "I'm not gonna judge, though."

"Gents, we all know it was out of my control," Sandman sighed. "With the General breathing down my neck and all... I mean, her Sergeant must have put her up for recommendation for some good reason, at least."

The four readied their MP5s as the medic finally finished and jogged over.

"Let's move," Sandman ordered as he got his mask on and opened the next box, this one holding five Diver Propulsion Vehicles. Each had handles and a sonar to check for mines.

They all threw them into the water and jumped in, bringing themselves to the place where they were to meet the SEALs.

Sandman and Frost ran into a metal grate and motioned to everyone to hold.

"In position," Grinch radioed.

"SDV Team 4, this is Metal 0-1. Radio check in the blind, over," Sandman said.

"Roger, 0-1. We have you five-by-five. Phase line Echo secure. We have execute authority," a SEAL replied.

"We're one minute out."

"Copy that."

"Just don't start the party without us," Grinch chimed in.

Sandman was using a torch to cut open the barrier. Frost pushed it open.

"Primary entry point is open, stay tight, easy to get separated down here."

The operators swam through the vent out into the tunnel. Cars sat at the bottom as fish swam around, happy they had some of their territory back. Some random junk was suspended in the liquid, stuff like traffic cones and trash.

Some other things were floating around. Bodies.

Jenna noticed a man wearing a suit and tie.

"He must have been outside the car. Flood probably got him. Judging from what I see, the cold shock response made him breathe in water as opposed to running out of breath," she commented.

"Damn. Think anyone got out?" Grinch asked.

"Nothing we can do for them now," Sandman nonchalantly responded. Once you've seen one corpse, you've seen 'em all.

Frost looked nearby and saw a young woman's body, her hands near her throat.

"Shit, this place is creeping me the fuck out," he added.

They kept moving and found a large hole and swam out of it.

"Metal 0-1, got you on the tracker," a SEAL said.

"Roger, approaching rendezvous," Sandman replied. "SEAL team should be up ahead."

"I see them."

"Sub's on the move. Intercept window's closing fast," the SEAL radioed.

"Roger that, lead the way," Sandman said.

Jenna winced. She was a Ranger. "Lead the way" was still burnt into her mind.

Frost turned around and noticed her trailing behind.

"So much for ladies first, huh? _And _'Rangers lead the way!'" he chuckled.

Jenna raised a middle finger. Frost turned around and kept going.

"Check your sonar, Russians are laying mines."

Jenna's eyes widened and she looked around, searching for the explosives. There was one. A nice little party balloon of exploding death.

"Eyes on your sonar."

Frost looked at his screen, noticing red lines flashing everywhere. Ouch.

The bottom of one ship suddenly burst, and started sinking.

"Right, right!"

"That was close, man."

They avoided more mines and came to rest beneath a pipeline.

"Power down, here we go!" Sandman ordered.

Everyone stopped their engines and let themselves sink to the sea floor. Two torpedoes cut through the water, leaving trails of bubbles behind them.

"Target approaching, Oscar-2, eight o'clock," the SEAL leader whispered.

A long red figure appeared on the sonars.

"Looks like a dong, doesn't it?" Jenna commented.

"Shut up, Hook!"

Above them, the tip revealed itself.

"Steady."

Now they saw the immense submarine right there.

"Wait 'till she passes."

The sub's tail could be seen from where the SEALs and Delta Force guys were. Its two large propellers sliced through the water.

"Okay, go! Get in position!"

They fired up their DPVs and started getting to where they had to be. Frost moved to the tail and took out his mine.

"Planting," Grinch said.

"Planting."

"Frost, plant the mine on the sub."

In response, he pulled out the disk and pressed it onto the metal, making it stick. He then turned a switch as the mine started emitting a red light.

It was as easy as holding down a button on a controller… _wait! What?_

He pushed himself away, getting to a safe distance before things went boom.

"Mines armed. Clear out," Sandman warned.

"Good job, prepping for exfil," the SEAL leader said.

"Going explosive… hit it," Sandman ordered.

Jenna looked back as explosions rocked the submarine.

"Overlord, this is Metal 0-1. Sub is surfacing. Commencing assault," Sandman continued.

"Roger 0-1, continue to primary objective. We need control of the sub's missiles," Overlord replied.

Seriously, Overlord sounded different these days.

The operators came to the surface, ditching their expensive vehicles. Taxpayers would be very angry.

They watched as two missiles came through the air and slammed into a building. Just then, the sub surfaced.

"Hold position."

Right on Frost's left, the submarine brought itself into view as if it were gasping for air. It caught him off guard, and he raised an arm to block the water spraying everywhere.

The team climbed up on the tail, ditched their masks, and jogged across the top of the sub.

"Shit, it's freezing!" Jenna complained, raising her MP5.

"Hatch opening!" Sandman yelled. "Contact, coming outta the hatch!"

Two poor Russian sailors were cut down, their bodies tumbling into the water.

Sandman nodded to Jenna, who prepped a grenade and dropped it into the hole.

"Frag out!" she warned.

"Clear. Head down."

"Deck secured. We'll hold topside," Truck told Frost as Sandman and Hook went down the ladder.

Frost slid down the ladder and through some steam into the submarine. He readied his submachine gun.

* * *

Natalia gave Peter her signature death glare to no avail. She should have known. He was one of the few people who didn't get chills down their spines from it.

"Come on, loosen up a bit! I mean, we're stuck working together, aren't we?"

She pretty much ignored him and tried talking to the other guys but couldn't. As usual, he rudely interrupted everything she tried to say.

"Can't you let me fucking talk?" she sighed.

"Nah, didn't feel like it," Peter replied.

Natalia rolled her eyes.

"All right. What. Do. You. Want?"

"You know, you're still lookin' pretty nowadays."

She got up and shoved him against the wall.

"Man, I was just messing with ya!"

"That's enough, you two!" Koslov snapped.

He stood and made everyone get together.

"Listen up. It's a matter of time before they find out what we are doing here. They will be given orders to kill us. From there on out we are not to work with anyone unless I say we can. We're going off the grid for this op," he whispered.

"Why is that?" Kaminski inquired.

"We're going to be looking for Vladimir Makarov. That same Vladimir Makarov has infiltrated our government, including our armed forces. Intel has it that he has a man here."

Just as promised, two men showed up at the door with AKs.

Koslov nodded and smirked.

* * *

"All right Frost and Hook, sweep and clear. All unknowns are hostile," Sandman ordered.

They quickly walked through the bland, cramped corridors.

Angry Russians started spraying their SMGs everywhere but were no match for the Delta soldiers' controlled, precise fire.

As Frost and Jenna came down some stairs they found Sandman pushing a hostile through a doorway and smashing his head between the wall and his foot.

"Stairs clear, take left," he said.

The floor was starting to fill up with water. Frost promptly took down a sailor who was trying to put out a fire.

As they kept going through, it felt like there were enemies behind every corner.

Red lights started flashing, a siren blared, and a Russian-speaking voice came over the intercom.

"They're going to scuttle the sub. We gotta move, now! Frost, take point!" Sandman snapped.

Jenna noticed a red dot on Frost's forehead. She followed its trail through the smoke to a tango, who she quickly emptied her SMG into.

They were in a room full of tanks. Frost walked past one only for a sailor to come and ambush him, blade in hand. Jenna took note of this and tackled the man, screaming wildly. She took the Russian and slammed him into the floor repeatedly until his face was a bloody mess.

"COME GET SOME, BITCHES!" she yelled, picking up the man's submachine gun and throwing herself behind the nearest tank.

She dumped the mag in the direction the enemies were coming from, discarding the weapon and drawing a smoke grenade from her vest. Rolling it down the catwalk, she waited for it to pop and disperse its smoke. Drawing her knife and pistol, she quickly flanked to the side, trying to get behind the approaching sailors. After jamming her knife into a Russian's neck, she quickly dispatched two more with her sidearm. She finished the final hostile by throwing him over the railing into the boiling heat below, his screams drowned in the steam.

"Holy shit…" Frost murmered.

_Maybe she is kind of useful._

"All right, we're good to go!"

The floor was littered with dead people at this point. Frost had to kick aside a corpse just to go up some stairs.

"We have to get to the bridge!" Sandman shouted.

They made their way to the bridge's entrance.

"Okay, put a kicker charge on the door."

Frost nodded and put a large square-shaped bundle of C4 in the center. Sandman got longer cylindrical charges and placed them on the sides. He prepped his detonator.

He set it off and turned away from the blast as Frost slipped inside. It felt like everything was in slow-motion as he dropped the officers inside. One guy tried charging him with a knife only to get a nice .45 round in the skull.

Jenna went up to a body and picked up the pistol lying next to it.

"Sweet! Glock 18! I'm keeping this!" she giggled, shoving it into her belt.

"Area secure," Sandman said as he turned over a body and took something. "All right, I've got the launch keys!"

The two went to the console as Sandman radioed, "Overlord, this is Metal 0-1, I send checkpoint Neptune, over."

"Roger 0-1, copy Neptune, over," Overlord replied.

"I have the missile key and I'm accessing the launch codes now."

"Grid coordinates follow: Tango Whiskey 0-5-6-6-2-8."

"Coordinates confirmed! Firing on Russian fleet in thirty seconds. Frost, get on the console."

Sandman tossed the key over. Frost inserted it into the slot.

"Three, two, one, turn!"

The cover flipped open and Frost punched the launch button.

"Overlord, missiles armed and launching!" Sandman radioed.

"Roger, SEAL team is in position for exfil."

"Go! Go!"

The three climbed up the ladder as two jets flew overhead.

"Grinch, Truck, let's roll!" Sandman yelled while sliding into a Zodiac RHIB boat.

"Amen to that!" Grinch responded.

Jenna tumbled in and rolled aside at the last second so Frost wouldn't fall on her.

"Frost, punch it!"

The boat took off across the surface.

The doors opened and flaming projectiles rocketed out.

"Missiles launching! Keep up with that Zodiac!"

Two enemy patrol boats sprayed their machine guns. The shots missed and impacted the sides of two ships the operators drove their boats between. An explosion tilted the one on the left to the side.

"Gun it!"

Explosions were everywhere, sending ripples through the water. Frost noticed the _USS Nimitz_ spartly sunken in the harbor, listed to her port side. He guided his boat to it. Suddenly, a hostile PT boat pulled up on the left, pushing the Zodiac onto the _Nimitz's_ flight deck.

"Watch out!" Truck screamed.

* * *

The two thugs pointed their weapons at the people inside. Natalia's killer mentality kicked in and she slipped to the side of one, hitting him with his own gun. She ruthlessly sliced open his jugular and threw his AK to Peter, who accurately planted a single round in the second guy's head.

"Let's go!" Koslov ordered, running out the door. The others were right behind him as Makarov's men fired at them.

"Only take out Makarov's guys!" Koslov told them.

"How do we know who's who?" Kuznetsov panicked.

"They're the confused ones. They have no idea why to shoot us," Peter winked.

They got out onto the deck as Dmitri waved to them to get into the chopper.

The Russians got inside as Tasha fired up the engines. A hostile helo came in, pointing its guns straight at them.

"On the gun, Petrova!"

Natalia pulled the mounted machine gun and took the enemy down as the chopper lifted into the air.

"I hope we're getting paid enough for this!" Irina complained.

"Our fighter escort should be arriving soon!" Dmitri notified.

A jet took off from the carrier and acquired the chopper as a target as they gained distance.

"We're locked on! Countermeasures prepped!" Irina yelled.

"Hold it…" Dmitri muttered.

The fighter's pilot gripped the controls.

"Hold it…"

The jet fired two missiles.

"Flares, now!"

The chopped dumped its flares as the jet exploded. A friendly MiG pulled up on their 9 o'clock.

"Hey Poacher 1-1, it's Griffin 3-5, sorry I'm late to the party," the pilot chuckled.

"Holy shit, 3-5, it's fine! Thanks for the assist," Tasha gratefully replied.

"Anyway, 1-1, we're gonna escort you to our base at Langley Field, Virginia. We have orders to do so," the pilot finished.

"Why is that?" Natalia asked Koslov.

"Very recently, the Americans got their air power back. Not only that, but Makarov might send more after us. It's best that we have escort."

"Where are we going again? I mean, after Virginia."

"Pakistan."

* * *

"Shoot the mines!" Sandman ordered.

Jenna took the G18 she looted and sprayed it at the explosives on the side of the PT boat, incinerating the saps on it. Russian Hinds flew around in chaos.

All around them, Russian ships were being sent to Davy Jones' locker.

A CH-47 Chinook came by.

"There's our bird!"

The boat went underneath a destroyed pier and flew over a slab of concrete like a ramp.

"There she is! Go, go!"

"Metal 0-1, we are feet wet!" the Chinook pilot told them as his helicopter hovered above the water.

Frost drove the RHIB straight into the cargo bay, almost hitting one of the crew members. The three leaped out as another crewman pulled the boat in.

"Overlord, mission complete! All eagles accounted for!"

"Roger, Metal 0-1, missile strikes confirmed on multiple Russian hard targets in your AO. All primary threats neutralized. Good work, team, that's one for the books."

"Easy day, Overlord. Sandman out," Sandman chuckled.

"No sweat!" Frost responded.

Jenna leaned back and let out a sigh of relief as she enjoyed the view.

* * *

**Oh my. That was an interesting one to write. I'm writing slightly more fanservice than I usually do, it seems. **_**Ever so slightly more.**_

**Listen, I'm sorry if there was too much game dialogue in this one. I kinda derped out and couldn't get too many original ideas for this level.**

**Thanks to two folks who followed and faved recently. You know who you are. *cough* KodokSangar and AlwaysChillin98 *cough* I appreciate your support very much.**

**Credit to my best buddy for coming up with the title. He just started reading as of the writing of this chapter. HI ZOERREN**

**Ha, see how I put some serious references to earlier CoDs in there? Koslov's backstory is related to CoD2 and CoD4 to be specific. I'm not-so-proud to say I've played every CoD since 2.**

**Some of Frost's inner thoughts (mainly where he complains about a lot of work) are mine whenever I play campaign. Like, come on, the protagonist always does everything.**

**This is getting interesting. Frost is being quite the tsundere type (I hate using weeb terms but hey it's the best way to describe it) toward Jenna, and then we see Jenna flip out and have a slight yandere moment in the sub.**

**Before I forget, I had Team Metal with MP5s because in the campaign level they did indeed use them. I might have taken a few liberties, 'cause I'm not exactly sure how they all geared up for that short transition in the opening cutscene. **

**Also, a certain reviewer suggested Jenna use an MP5, after all, it would be much more suitable. I kind of stuck her with an MP7 last chapter so she'd be mostly useless in the situations she was in, you know, learn a lesson about using the right gun for the job.**

**Before I forget, the part where she takes the G18 might be a callback to an earlier chapter where Natalia takes the HVI's Deagle. Also, I like getting G18s in campaign so whenever I play that level I take G18s off the ground. **


	14. Flight Delayed

**This chapter might be a bit early… but I feel like with chapter 13 came bad luck. (Get it?) A handful of views, only one review, and two of my friends who wanna read it have been too loaded with homework to even start. So I need to break the chapter 13 curse and get this sucker out!**

**[UPDATE: All right, I got a few more views and two guest reviews, but my friends still are loaded and I might as well finish the chapter. Sooo…]**

_**QUICK, HAVE SOME 1**__**ST**__** PERSON!**_

* * *

_Flight Delayed_

_August 22, 2016_

_Cpl. Natalia Petrova [POV]_

_VDV Spetsnaz_

_Mil MI-17 flight headed to Langley Field, Virginia_

* * *

I fiddled with my handgun as our chopper headed to the base. I think the last time I did that was before the jump. Funny thing is, that was also the last time I was in Virginia.

After the incident involving the fighter jet, we were kind of on the edge of our seats. But we had just entered friendly airspace and knew we were somewhat safer there.

Sgt. Koslov held something toward me. I shifted my focus to the small box in his hand.

"Петрова. Сигарета?" he asked, offering the contents.

I sighed and slipped one of the small cylinders out. A smoke didn't seem so bad. After all, who knows what kind of fumes I breathed in combat?

"Need a light?" he added as I put it between my teeth.

"нет," I refused as I produced my own lighter.

I took a drag and blew it out, the smoke blown outside by the wind.

"Not bad, most people I know hack their lungs out first time. That's probably just me," Koslov commented.

I realized that my lungs pretty much had accepted the cigarette smoke instantly. Maybe combat fumes really were worse.

I turned a bit to see Peter staring intently at me. Ugh. Checking me out… _still?_

"Do you mind?" I said.

"Oh no, I was just thinking of how different you are now. Last time you were a goody two-shoes who didn't even think of lighting up, next thing we have this."

He smiled, but not really a happy kind of smile. It was the smile of someone who had seen things that weren't ideal for the average human. Even creepier, it was the same kind of smile people told me I had.

"Then again, guess you couldn't stay that innocent girl in the unit forever. We all lose something out there."

Damn. First time I remember that guy saying anything that made sense.

He reached into his pocket and held up a handful of dog tags.

"I heard about what you did out there. I kinda had a similar situation. Ended up in charge of a bunch of recruits, they got cut down one by one."

I'd never seen that side of him before.

"I didn't exactly get mad at the Americans though. To be honest, it's our fault for trying to touch them in the first place. It's a mistake invading another country. Same as if they invaded us."

I took another breath of smoke. I agreed but didn't feel like admitting it.

Our little conversation was interrupted when Dmitri piped up.

"Hey guys, we're landing soon. No time to screw around. Get off with your crap and get to that plane there. The faster we're out the sooner we're out of this hellhole."

We got off and started jogging to the… passenger airliner? Funny thing is I could have flown one of these things if it weren't for the war.

Our fighter escort swooped around for a landing as we kept heading toward the stairway leading into it.

I looked around a bit. Young enlisted guys and girls running around. Some of them were flight crew, others were pilots, there were soldiers… you get the idea.

I cringed at the sight of a girl my age walking with an AK slung over her shoulder, giggling as she chatted with a friend. She would probably end up as another casualty. Even worse, someone like I. Either way, it wouldn't end well for any of these kids they threw out here.

I got on the plane, tossed my stuff in the overhead bin, and stared out the window. I was fortunate. I had the luck to be able to get out. They didn't.

* * *

_Team Metal_

_Delta Force_

After the mission, pretty much everyone died in the seats of their choppers to awaken once they were back at base. The entire mission was exhausting and the soldiers needed some rest.

Frost woke up to find Hook asleep on his shoulder.

_**WHAT!?**_

He jumped in his seat and accidentally woke her up.

She got up, the drowsiness still swimming around in her eyes. She glanced up into Frost's orbs and realized what happened.

She had a similar reaction, snapping back as her eyes widened and the red showed up on her face. At least Frost had the liberty of having a mask to cover his blush.

They immediately turned away from each other to avoid the awkwardness. Not that it worked or anything.

The wheels hit the ground and the three inside the Chinook came out to meet the other two. They all exchanged their fist bumps and celebration as they went to the command building to debrief.

After that was over, everyone took showers and changed into fresher clothing. Frost went outside to take a smoke break.

He noticed Hook standing next to him, hands on her hips, looking kinda pissed.

"You know, that's bad for you. Especially bad if your job involves a lot of running around," she scolded.

Oh yeah, she was a medic.

Frost raised his eyebrows at her and smirked.

"Can't help it, Hook. My entire life I've been exposed to 'em. One day, I found a few my dad left there and figured 'why not?'"

"Your dad doesn't sound like the most responsible," she replied.

"Well, he was kind of an alcoholic. Beat me up a whole lot. I ain't the only one with a bad dad."

Jenna immediately started paying attention. She wanted to know Frost's story a bit more.

"Uh-huh. He was kinda mad because he was stuck with me. Uh… sorry, I'm talking about stuff I probably shouldn't bring up."

"No, it's fine!" Jenna protested.

"That's not important right now."

_Dammit! Guess I'll have to wait some other time… _she thought.

"How was the op? I'd expect a fragile thing like you to be kind of more… beat up."

"Oh, well I've been running combat missions ever since Afghanistan so I'm a lot more used to it than I look."

"Shit! They put you out there?"

"They needed all the help they could get."

"Huh. You know, you're famous now in the spec-ops community. Not only were you the first female Ranger you're also the first female shooter with Delta. At least, officially. We've had a few chicks from the CIA before but that's different."

Jenna gulped. What else did they know?

"What else do I have a reputation for?" she asked.

"Not much else, really. Not up this high. I don't know about your rep with the regular guys."

She let out a breath of relief. Good, he didn't know about her bad behavior or anything.

"By the way, next time, use a better gun for the job. In your defense, we didn't expect to fight on the streets, but you could have taken someone's M4."

"I'll try to remember that."

Jenna went back inside. Frost thought she was acting kind of weird around him.

He stamped out the smoldering remains of his cigarette and remembered that they were all going out to town that night.

* * *

Soon before the plane touched down, Koslov gave us explicit orders.

"Don't draw any attention to yourselves at all. Don't make eye contact with anyone in the airport, don't open your bags, and move quickly. We'll meet a contact of mine waiting outside in a van."

We got off and walked across the tarmac into the building. I could feel the eyes of the people there all focused on us. We had our Russian uniforms on and that just screamed "PERFECT TERRORIST TARGET."

Outside was a van as promised. On the side was a distinct emblem that resembled the Freemasons' with a crosshair in the center. A man inside opened the door to let us in. He was wearing subdued plain clothing along with some tactical gear.

"Koslov! Haven't heard from you in a while. When the government set up this transaction they didn't tell us you were the people they were lending us," he greeted.

A gunshot suddenly penetrated the windshield and splattered the driver's brain matter all over the man.

He took an AK and started firing as Koslov ordered us back in.

"Back in the airport! Now, NOW!"

We turned around and ran back in, opening our bags and gearing up as civilians swarmed around us, screaming.

"What the hell's going on?" Kaminski panicked.

"Makarov's inner circle is here… didn't think they'd find us so soon," Koslov replied, pulling the bolt on his weapon.

Peter tossed a rifle to Kuznetsov as I checked to make sure I had ammo.

"Get ready. Watch for civilians," he muttered.

A handful of hostiles jogged in, haphazardly gunning down the noncombatants running around. Bodies everywhere.

Just like the massacre.

I got up and fired back, taking one down as I continued advancing and making sure civilians were back.

By now, I was slowly descending into my state of cold and calculating focus. When that happens I end up becoming almost bloodthirsty, ruthlessly taking down enemy after enemy. And it isn't pretty. At least from what I hear.

I leaped behind a ticket counter as rounds flew overhead. A few civvies were there, hunched over and covering their ears. One was an airport worker, one was a middle-aged man, and there were two little kids too.

"Stay down," I ordered in English, hoping they'd understand. To try and explain I also waved my hand toward the ground so they'd get the point.

I peered over the counter and saw some more people hiding behind a counter across from me. My squad fired into the center of the enemy and they started moving to the sides to take cover.

One of them approached the counter and I quickly got down. He pointed his rifle at the civilians and placed his finger on the trigger.

Gunshots.

I'd hit him with his own weapon and emptied the rest of my mag into him. The people behind the opposite side counter were looking over, waiting for a chance to run.

To buy some time I jumped back out and ran in front of the enemy to draw their fire. I waved to the civilians to run with my non-firing hand.

My index finger was squeezing the trigger harder than ever. The AK bounced around as I tried to restrain its recoil with only one arm.

The squad saw me coming and nodded. Peter motioned to me to get down. I threw myself to the ground and went prone right before they sprayed their lead into the last few tangoes.

Koslov dragged me back into cover.

"Damn, Petrova, that was insane! Be more careful next time!" he scolded.

I raised my eyebrows, held up a grenade, pulled the pin, and tossed it over my shoulder. It exploded and sent a tango flying through the air.

Koslov's expression was priceless.

"Nice one," he muttered.

"So, what are we gonna do now, sir?" Kuznetsov asked while shoving a new mag in.

"I'm really not sure. I guess we should drive out the enemy and hold the airport."

Peter glanced at his weapon and tapped his ammo pouches.

"Let's see, I got about half a mag left in this thing. Two left in my pouches. Thirty rounds per mag plus about fifteen in this thing. Seventy-five shots. I think we can do it, sir."

"What the hell!?" Kaminski whined.

"Make it count. If you run dry, we have a bunch of organic ammo boxes on the floor around us. All right, let's take this fucking airport! LET'S GO!" Koslov screamed.

He jumped over the cover and yelled, firing in the direction of the enemy. Peter shrugged and followed suit. Kuznetsov punched a shivering Kaminski in the shoulder and the two joined the fight.

I sighed as I checked my ammo count. Not much. I checked the vest of one of Makarov's goons and scored a few mags.

I popped up and ran after the other four as we took down terrorist left and right.

I have to say, it was quite exhilarating.

* * *

Team Metal burst through the doors of the local bar. It was in an area of Manhattan farther from the fight and in US control. Sure, it was constantly packed with guys in camo but the owners didn't mind the business.

"Multicam. They don't dick around," a Private whispered.

Most of the eyes were on the last one, though. Unlike the other four, this one was a girl. Messy hair, athletic figure, she seemed like the type who'd be rolling with them. Nobody knew why, though, so everyone was quite confused at the sight.

Ignoring the stares, they all plopped down in their stools and laughed as they shared a few tales with Jenna. She was new and they thought she should have an idea of what they did.

They started by telling her about Operation Kingfish, an op for killing the guy who started the entire shitshow. They told her about these SAS guys part of this prima donna group called Task Force 141.

Say, weren't those guys in some serious dirt?

Either way, she was fascinated by the exploits of these men. Price, an old captain who went to Chernobyl and back. Soap, the man who killed Zakhaev himself after Price didn't. Ghost, who dug himself out of a grave with his friend's jawbone. And Roach...

"Gary 'Roach' Sanderson… he was one of us at a point. He was a Delta guy, different team, though. Now his name was Roach because the bastard wouldn't die no matter what. Back in 2011 he was on exchange with DEVGRU. Almost was on the op to kill Bin Laden, so turns out that if he went then the chopper that went down would have been his coffin. Without his weight the pilot managed to pull it off. He ends up fighting the OpFor instead, being part of the team who found the nuke. Pulls out with the rest but they get caught in the boom. He still doesn't die at all. The chopper crashes with most of them still alive. So he gets them all and they all hump through the desert until they collapse. He was the last to go down. He went down after finding Air Force Pararescue and bringing them to the rest. Turns out Roach can survive a nuclear explosion."

Jenna solemnly recalled her parents' death in that same nuke. But Sanderson sounded like everything she wanted to be. Someone who could bullshit their way out of any situation, survive the harshest of conditions, and live to the next fight.

A crowd of regulars were forming around them. Sandman was growing irritable. Unlike the SEALs, Delta hated being loudmouths.

"Could you guys not?" he growled, most immediately turning away and walking off. "Does it look like we're wearing the Little Mermaid trident?"

Well, maybe except for a few.

A couple of guys about Jenna's age, clad in full digital ACUs in contrast to her Multicam pants and tan T-shirt.

"Bruh, why you fucking around with these guys?" one of them slurred. "How about this... we hook up and you get to choke on my cock?"

He was trying to show off his arms with sloppily-rolled against-regs sleeves. Hell, Brooke's arms were bigger than that shit!

"Naww, don't listen to him. You need a real man, one who will treat his lady right. I'll defend you from him," another said.

Like hell he'd defend her! She could most definitely handle this douche shit alone, not to mention that she had four warriors watching her six. This one was a bit overweight and had evidence of a sloppy shave. Pfft. This guy must have jacked off to My Little Pony and worn a fedora at some point. His fingernails were orange, too... evidence of years of Cheeto consumption. A walking stereotype.

Truck began to rise, but Sandman held him down. Grinch was too busy flirting with the bartender.

The first dude pulled her out of her seat. She didn't want to hit another soldier (court-martial is no fun.)

She tried to pull away but he slapped her and pushed her down.

What the hell? Wasn't like her to take stuff like this.

Frost got up and crossed his arms.

"You're going to leave her alone," he declared matter-of-factly.

"Yeah? What are you gonna do, scene kid?" the more obnoxious guy shot back, observing Frost's sideswept light blond hair. "Bitch, I'll throw your ass for a spin!"

"Now, there's no need for that," the other added. "I'd rather not have to fight two of you savages at once."

Frost narrowed his eyes as he undid the Velcro strips on the wrists of his shirt and pushed them up, revealing a pair of surprisingly skinnier arms than expected... yet still looked like they could crush these guys like a compactor.

Jenna looked up at him with sparkling eyes. He was standing up for her?

He threw the first punch, missing by an inch. The first guy socked him in the face, dropping him. The second repeatedly kicked him in the gut.

Apparently he was only a good fighter if he had a weapon.

Fortunately, Jenna was a good fighter _without _one.

She got up and tackled the man kicking Frost to the ground. She quickly got up as the other went for her, taking him and body slamming him on top of the other. Easy. Just like high school.

Frost shamefully accepted her offer to help him up. _He_ was supposed to bail _her_ out.

"It's no problem, Frosty," she smirked. "I did a lot of fighting in my school years, remember?"

_Why did she just call me Frosty? _Frost thought as he rubbed his face and sat back down.

"Hook, that was pretty tight. CQB, bro. How about one on me, huh?" Grinch offered.

"But I'm... not good with drinking," Jenna replied, remembering the last time she made that mistake.

"Come on. You want to. I can tell."

He was kind of right.

She accepted the offer as the MPs came over to investigate what just happened. Upon noticing the Delta guys they immediately turned a blind eye to it, dragging the two unconscious people out of there.

Funny thing is, they would usually bring up that she looked too young to drink. Same thing was probably happening to James at the moment. She could imagine Foley butting in and yelling that he was actually 22 or so.

Jenna chuckled at the thought as she took her first swig.

* * *

_Flight Delayed_

_August 24, 2016_

_Cpl. Natalia Petrova [POV]_

_VDV Spetsnaz/Loyal PMC_

_Undisclosed airport, Pakistan_

I walked through the airport, checking to make sure there were none of Makarov's men made it in. Panicked civilians everywhere. They had to stay low until the airport was completely secure. It had been two days ever since the attack and they had to sleep, eat, and live in the airport.

The PMC managed to get a lot of people inside before the terrorists surrounded the airport. We were the only thing left between Makarov and those civvies.

After making sure it was all clear, I took a seat on one of the chairs and set my weapon down. The news was up on the TV.

It said that Russian-aligned terrorists took a Pakistani airport hostage. Not only that, but another terrorist organization was fighting them for control of that same airport. Pakistani police and military forces were constantly being attacked by the terrorists and it didn't seem like there would be a way to rescue the hostages. The government was requesting assistance from the US, but the US didn't want to aggravate the Russians any more after their invasion.

I rolled my eyes. It was pretty inaccurate.

A message came over the radio and I immediately paid attention.

"Poacher 3-1, one of our cameras is down and we're in the blind there. It's near you, go check it out."

I sighed and took her AKS-74 with me as I walked in the direction of the dead camera. Probably just another thing that got hit by a stray round in the firefight.

There, I stopped dead in my tracks. One of Makarov's men with a pile of corpses at his feet, a knife dripping with blood in his hand. He was about to execute a child, muffling the boy's screams with his tear-soaked glove. The kid looked right at me with pleading eyes.

_Stop him._

I brought my weapon on target, my finger wrapping around the trigger.

* * *

**Sheesh, insane cliffhanger, anyone? Because I kind of feel bad for doing that to you.**

**Anyway, I hope this breaks that stupid curse.**

**Yep, we find Natalia lighting up for the first time. Not gonna say whether that's going to be important or not. We also get a slight glimpse of Frost's past (and even more cancer-causing lung-killing sticks of death.)**

**And you can't forget Peter either. I thought he was a total asshole too. Of course, war changes a lot.**

**Yada yada, more Frost x Moore awkward moments, yada yada…**

**Yup, we meet the PMC for the first time. I wonder if you guys saw it coming that they would join those mercs. I called them "Loyal PMC" because according to the wiki they're the Loyalists from MW working to support themselves after they were exiled from Russia. Remember, Koslov was formerly a Loyalist soldier.**

**What is with Makarov's obsession with attacking airports? Seems like it's a bit different this time.**

**You get a bit more of Natalia's cold killer mentality, this time from her POV. I swear it has nothing to do with Flippy from Happy Tree Friends, though I realized it a bit late.**

**Then we have the classic "girl in a bar getting hit on" scenario, except with expert brawler Jenna and failed-CQB-course-in-Delta-training Frost. The fun continues, huh?**

**Sorry for bringing in TL;DR backstories for characters you guys are already familiar with. I felt like you might want to see how the Delta guys saw them.**

**Then I decided to bring in two stereotyped characters. Go ahead. Laugh at me for using the drunk-douche-at-the-bar-who-wants-to-get-laid guy and the fedora-wearing-MLP-fan-atheist-neckbeard guy. **

**For the record, no offense to drunk people, people who want to get laid (RESPONSIBLY), fedora-wearers (I used to wear 'em), MLP fans, and atheists. But total offense to douches and neckbeards. Send me anon hate on Tumblr or post bad reviews if you like.**

**The whole "you look a little too young to drink Ramirez then Foley claims he's his adopted son" thing is a reference to a personal favorite fic of mine, **_**Same Stuff, Different Day. **_**Also, the title is a reference to this machinima made by some squakers that I liked when I was younger. It's no longer up and it was garbage, but I loved it. It was called _Flight Delayed._ Yes it was on the map _Terminal._  
**

**Quick shoutout to Hawk-eye-33. She's got a fanfiction up called **_**Broken Fate. **_**It's for Ghosts, I just started reading, and I dig it so far. Go read it while you wait for the next chapter.**

**OH YEAH! My birthday's on the 12****th****! Happy early birthday to me!**

***emo crying and wrist slashing to My Chemical Romance***

**Yep. Gon' be a year older. Lel.**

**Anyway, rate, review, whatever. And thank you for reading.**

**5TORM OUT!**


	15. Thnks Fr Th Mmrs

**Well, seems like last chapter did not, I say again, did not break the curse. Shame. Seriously guys, no one's reading this thing anymore. Getting a handful of views and the last review was on chapter 9. The reviews before that were by anons on the previous chapter. I'm kind of disappointed. **

**First things first, an anon addressed my portrayal of Roach as American. Well, his identity is ambiguous like every MW PC besides Yuri, Allen, and Soap. Also, it's a bit awkward if the big four of the 141 (Price, Soap, Ghost, and Roach) were all Brits. Makes the 141 seem more like an SAS task force with American, Canadian, and Australian support guys. **

**Fun headcanon from my friend: Natalia has a distinct citrus scent. Maybe she has a tree air freshener or whatever on her vest, haha.**

**By the way, I'm sure plenty of you wonder about why the hell Frost has frickin' scene hair, is an amazing shot, and has plenty of Gary Stu traits. Well, I hate Mary Sues and Gary Sues with a passion. Frost is a player character and as a result has the skills of the player. I like to think that because the player can be an amazing shot then Frost being the PC can be. His inability to fight unarmed I drew from the fact that in game the only melee attack is a knife swing. I threw in the hair as a way to poke fun at Gary Stus. Get it?**

**WARNING: This chapter contains some pretty graphic content. Like, some rape-y content. Not gonna describe the actual event in too much detail but I'm warning you now, if you're sensitive then be very aware.**

**Enjoy the chapter or I'll kill you. Personally.**

* * *

Natalia absolutely refused to back down. She wished she had more time to think this through, but acting was more important at this moment. Rapid-fire thoughts flashed through her mind all in the matter of a second as she made her decision.

_Shouldn't be an issue - the kid's way shorter than the guy._

Natalia bit her lip. She couldn't mess this one up.

She snapped her sights right onto the terrorist's center of mass and squeezed the trigger, quickly bringing him down with one round.

Then, her eyes met the kid's. His face lit up as he started to approach her, arms spread open. Another terrorist popped out from a row of seats, AK at the ready and pointed at the kid.

Natalia's eyes widened and she raised her weapon, but it was too late. A round tore through the boy's chest violently, his eyes rolling back into his head as he dropped and tumbled over at Natalia's feet.

"NO!" Natalia screamed as the terrorist continued to fire.

She rolled into cover, popped out, and let out a burst at the man's legs. He screamed as he clutched at his obliterated knees, ending up on the floor. Natalia got up, pulled out the Desert Eagle she stole from Virginia a while back, and walked up to the man.

She narrowed her eyes.

"соси хуй," the man said, grinning. "Suck my cock!"

"Заткнись, иди на хуй!" Natalia screamed as she violently pressed the barrel into his temple. "Shut up and fuck you!"

Then, she stood back up and fired one round into each foot and one into his crotch. Her wrist was hurting like hell from the recoil but _damn _it felt so good to hear his cries of agony.

By now, he was in tears but still kept that sadistic smile on his face.

Natalia wanted him to suffer even more, but her anger was too great. She emptied the rest of the magazine into the terrorist.

She then stood there, staring at the floor and surrounded by corpses. The pistol dropped from her hand and clattered on the ground. The young Russian followed suit, collapsing to her knees.

Peter ran in with his weapon at the ready. He found Petrova kneeling on the floor, her eyes focused on a point in empty space, surrounded by dead civilians, a terrorist's mangled body, and a smoking Desert Eagle.

"N-Natalie?" he stuttered.

No response.

He keyed his radio and reported back to Koslov.

"One of Makarov's men confirmed KIA. Five deceased civilians, one is a minor. Petrova is fine but appears to be in shock."

"Roger."

Peter slowly walked toward Natalia.

"Y-you all right?"

She finally ripped her focus from the ground and looked at him with eyes that begged for help.

"I should have checked for more. It was my fault. It was my fault."

"Petrova, there's nothing you could have done. Let's get you out of here…"

* * *

Jenna finished her first drink and her face was already flushed at that point. She definitely was not great with the stuff.

"Drunk already?" Frost snickered.

"Wha-? No way! I'm fine!" Jenna slurred.

"I dunno, your face is turning red and you're slurring already, Hook."

"I ain't drunk though!"

"That's what they all say."

At this point she was rocking back and forth with a cute smile on her face.

"Man, this girl is bo-ring! Take off your shirt or something!" Grinch joked.

"N-no way! Not for you, asshole!" Jenna stuttered.

Frost rolled his eyes… then remembered seeing her in her underwear earlier. He blushed heavily at the thought.

"Frost, you dirty sonofabitch, what are you thinking about?"

"N-nothing!" he sheepishly replied.

Grinch leaned in and whispered in his ear.

"You wanna see her shirtless, don't ya?" he snickered.

"YES!" Frost shamefully yelped as he squeezed his eyes shut.

"Man, you act like I can't be crazy," Jenna said.

She stumbled over and climbed onto his lap, staring straight into his face.

"You like that?"

"Hook! We're not even, like, involved or anything! Don't you have a boyfriend or something?"

"Nah," she responded, leaning even closer.

_Lap dance! Lap dance! _Grinch cheered in his mind.

Instead, Jenna merely hugged Frost and rubbed her cheek against his.

"You're pretty hot, ya know that, Frosty?"

If she were sober she wouldn't be as open, in fact, she would be way too shy to even confess to him.

Frost at this point was starting to break out in a sweat.

"All right, that's enough!" he snapped, pushing her off him.

"But, Frost!"

"You're going too far, Hook! We have a professional relationship and we're keeping it that way!"

_What the fuck are you doing? Are you into her or not?_

He shook his head. The last thing this team needed was a relationship between the two lowest ranked members.

Frost sighed. Did he like her or what?

* * *

Natalia thrust awake from her sleep, sweating and panting. She had just gone through one of the most horrifying nightmares she ever experienced. She clutched her handgun to the point her knuckles were turning white.

Her dream was just a collection of all the traumatizing moments she went through.

Nearly drowning.

Executing an enemy soldier.

Losing her cousin.

Meeting her demoralized comrades.

Capture and subsequent torture.

Abuse during torture.

The EMP in Washington.

And now, the hostage debacle she just had.

Reliving her torture was probably one of the worst things that happened. Most of her dreams in the past didn't have much sense to them, and she'd forget them upon waking. But this one, it was crystal clear and she remembered every detail.

She found herself locked in that compound again.

* * *

_Operation__ [Redacted] – day 2 of interrogation_

_Cpl. Natalia Petrova_

_Status: P.O.W._

_Russian VDV_

_Undisclosed safehouse, USA_

The three MPs strolled through the hallways. They were pretty bored and felt like messing with the prisoners. They made sure to turn off all of the cameras to make sure no one knew what they were doing at all.

They came to the next room. The previous one was pretty boring, just some scared-outta-his-pants Ivan. This next one would be their best prisoner yet, though.

They opened the door and walked in to find a worn-out Natalia chilling in her chair, minding her own business.

"Richards," one whispered. "Think we got a jackpot."

"I'm with ya on that one, Martin… hey, Curtis?"

"Yeah."

The three of them approached the POW, who was staring blankly into space. Richards cracked his knuckles and nodded to Curtis.

Curtis slapped her across the face with all of his strength.

"OW! What the hell!?" Natalia responded.

"Oh, cunt speaks English," Martin commented.

"Hey, BITCH! Gimme some FUCKING RESPECT!" Curtis yelled as he hit her again.

Richards broke out into laughter. This one was fun.

Natalia spit on the ground.

"Хуй тебе," she defiantly muttered.

"What did she say?" Martin asked, scratching his head.

"How about you ask me, dumbass? I said 'fuck you,'" Natalia spat.

"Testing my patience, ain't ya… Richards? Do your thing."

Richards took out his pepper spray and let a stream out into the Russian's face.

"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!" she screamed. "YOU GUYS AREN'T MY INTERROGATORS!"

Martin leaned in.

"Guess what? No one gives a shit."

"Get her out of that chair!" Curtis ordered.

Richards uncuffed her and threw her on the ground. For good measure, Martin kicked her in the gut a few times.

"That all you bastards got? Try me," Natalia coughed.

"Let's go, bitch!" Curtis snapped as he whipped out his baton and started beating her repeatedly.

When she curled up into a ball, he threw the baton aside and held her up.

"Have fun, boys," he whistled.

Richards and Martin both started throwing punches to her stomach.

"Ha… any… more?" she growled.

"Stubborn bitch ain't you?" Curtis murmured.

He threw her against the wall.

"When we're done here I'm sure you'll be our personal whore."

He dragged her back to the chair and cuffed her to it again.

"Noticed the Delta guys didn't finish the job," Curtis sadistically told her.

Martin laid a towel across her face and Richards started to pour the water. Only when Natalia was within an inch of drowning, coughing furiously, did they cease.

"I'm not telling you shit!" she barked.

"Who said we were here to get intel?" Richards retorted.

A few more rounds of waterboarding fun later, she was much quieter.

"Time for something else… you know, you got a nice body, hot stuff," Curtis continued.

Richards uncuffed her and held her down as Martin began to undress the poor girl.

"Nice tits," Martin mentioned once he got the T-shirt off.

She was down to her underwear at this point.

"Guys, like a real man, I'm gonna get in her panties myself… allow me."

Curtis shoved her against the wall.

"Stop struggling," he whispered. "You're just making it harder."

Suddenly, the door flew open and two men stormed in.

"ALL RIGHT, FUCKERS, NICE TRY!" Grinch screamed.

Frost went straight for Curtis and slammed him against the ground.

"The fuck you think you're doing?" he growled as he repeatedly kicked him.

Last kick went to the groin and he finally submitted.

When Frost began to help Natalia back up Grinch headed for Richards and Martin. Martin surrendered immediately and stepped away, but Richards put up his fists in a fighting stance.

"Oh, it's gonna be that way?" Grinch nodded.

He grinned, turning to Frost, who stole a Taser from the downed MP. He tossed it to Grinch, who without missing a beat, snapped it off at Richards, quickly immobilizing him.

Frost placed a hand on Natalia's shoulder.

"You all right?" he asked in his calmest, friendliest, most comforting tone.

Tears were streaming down her face. They saved her from being abused by these guys.

"We'll handle these assholes," he continued. "Until then, we're transferring you to a better room with medical people until then."

Two more Delta soldiers came in and helped Sandman bring the offenders out. For Natalia, everything afterwards was a blur.

* * *

Natalia rubbed her eyes. Her next guard shift was up and she had to switch out with Kuznetsov.

She grabbed her AKS-74 and stepped out of the room. There, a tired Kuznetsov was waiting.

"Thank you," he muttered as he went inside.

It was nighttime and the police lights outside could be seen flashing. Surprisingly, some of the civilians were able to sleep. Natalia anticipated more terrified civvies.

She walked up to one of the windows and sat down on one of the seats. The view, she had to admit, was pretty nice. Airplanes sat inactive on the tarmac as the police perimeter held its position. From the outside, they couldn't see through the glass, so Natalia was safe from snipers and such.

She fumbled around her vest for a certain item, that was, a pair of binoculars. They served with her throughout the entire invasion and she considered them somewhat lucky.

What was that? A crowd of protesters had gathered. One of them was a child with a sign pleading them to release his parents. Fucking Makarov, if his goons left then this debacle wouldn't have happened.

She yawned and checked her watch. Didn't want another bad situation to happen, so she took up her carbine and continued her patrol.

She noticed a pile of weapons and ammo some of the PMCs were building.

"What are these?" she inquired.

"These? Well, the terrorists left behind a lot of supplies and weapons. You're welcome to take some if you like," one replied.

Natalia dug through the pile.

She noticed a strange submachine gun. It resembled an Uzi with an extended flash hider and a foregrip. White text adorned the side. 9MM was the only recognizable thing she could pick out from the Asian characters.

"That?" a merc said. "Minebea PM-9. It's used by the JSGDF, you know, Japan's military. Dunno how Makarov's guys got it but they did."

Natalia turned it over in her hands. She liked it for some odd reason, its quirky yet still iconic appearance. She needed a replacement for the Desert Eagle, which kicked too hard and was completely wrecked from the abuse she put it through.

She shoved as many mags for it as she could find into her pouches, trying to shake off what had just happened earlier. She felt her knees trembling, and decided to take a seat. Burying her face in her hands, she began to cry.

* * *

Team Metal arrived back at the compound early in the morning. The day would be used for mostly sleeping, messing around, training, and of course, recovering from hangovers.

"Damn… my head," Truck complained as he drank from his glass of water.

"Fucking hammered, bro," Grinch agreed.

Jenna, on the other hand, didn't have much. Now, she was surprised (she was super drunk and as a result thought she had a lot) that she didn't have a hangover but was very satisfied with that fact.

She skipped past the two cheerily and leaned on the wall.

"How are you guys?" she teased.

"Agh… not too loud…" Grinch responded.

"Aww, you guys don't want me around?" Jenna whined. "Fine, guess I'll go somewhere alone."

She stopped by at the range and figured she might as well work on her skills. After all, she spent a long-ass time with the M4A1 and had to figure out her new best friends.

After retrieving the weapons from the armory she set them all on the table.

She glanced at the MP7. Nah, already worked with it.

MP5.

She pulled the bolt and locked it in position. After sliding the mag in, she performed the famous "HK slap," hitting the bolt down and letting it lock the round into place.

She started firing to get a feel for the weapon. Its recoil, its sound, its weight.

It was pretty awesome.

Next was the SCAR-L. Supposedly these had issues in the sandbox, but in Virginia, its older brother the SCAR-H proved itself to be an amazing weapon.

The L had a solid weight to it and familiar recoil, being a gun which took the M4A1's 5.56 NATO round. Its stock was way more comfy than the M4's, too.

She messed with a few more weapons. LMGs were near-impossible for her to lug around and shotguns were too hard to reload.

Frost walked in with a SCAR-L of his own. And like always, Jenna looked away. She was so shy around him for some reason.

He took notice and decided not to bring up last night's weirdness. Probably the booze talking, not her.

"SCAR?" he asked, raising his eyebrow. "Yeah, it's fun, ain't it?"

"Y-yeah."

"By the way, did you hear? Fight's almost over. Special Forces pushed the front line back, they recently handed it over to the regular guys and the Marines. Most of the Russian fleet's sunken or gone. Us? Well, we've finally caught a break."

Little did he know he was wrong.

* * *

**Heh… it's all ogre now.**

**Yeah, this was an interesting one to write. More development for Natalia, you know?**

**Sorry for the lack of update. Juggling school, anime, and an RP forum I started. (Check it out.)**

**I want to hear your opinions this time. Shame I got barely anything for the last chap.**

**What do you think about Natalia's character? I admit I've lazily neglected her and she needs work, but how did I do here?**

**I always intended her to be a cold tactical thinking type but might have strayed from that. As you can tell, even she can make reckless mistakes too. Bad call not making sure that guy was down, hm?**

**The MPs may or may not have any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead. At least one shares his name with someone I've known and disliked, though.**

**Oh yeah, the PM-9. One of my favorite MW3 weapons. More points for showing up in an anime I like, teehee.**

**We also see Jenna's drunk side. Yeah, she goes down quick, and she's waaaay more crazy. As if she wasn't insane enough.**

**I apologize for how short this was. I couldn't sleep so I decided to knock this out.**


	16. С нами Бог

**Unfortunately, the flash drive containing the endings and future chapters for this fic became corrupted and I've lost everything, including original writing I've worked on for over a year. As a result I've had to rewrite this chapter.**

**Before you do anything else, go over and support this super amazin' author. Ranger Danger 11. As far as military stuff goes he's one of the most well-versed and accurate I know. And he needs attention. SENPAI, NOTICE HIM**

**I've also been RPing too much… check out my RP if you like, it's CoD (duh) and it's called MW RP Fun Corner. But we do plenty of non MW stuff. Mmkay? Mmkay.**

* * *

"Grigory! You're telling me that the gun is gone!?"

"I-I'm sorry, sir! When the Americans were gone, we checked his body for it but it was nowhere to be found! And the sub was sinking, so we had to go!"

"Not only did we lose the officer we planted in there, we also lost the access to that intel… trace the drive. Find the gun. And don't disappoint me."

* * *

Jenna took aim with her new G18. She had turned in the rest of the weapons back to the armory and figured that she might as well practice with the looted pistol.

She lowered it and inspected it a bit. Something bothered her about it. On the bottom of the receiver, there was a strange rectangular protrusion jutting out. Not far enough to be obstructive but far enough to be noticed.

She cleared the weapon and activated the safety. She tried pulling the protrusion off, and it unexpectedly popped off. A small red object fell to the ground, so she bent down and picked it up.

It was a flash drive! Must have been hidden, too.

She shrugged, inserted it back into the gun, and shoved the pistol into her holster. She would head back to her barracks dorm and check it out a bit more.

Once she was there, she promptly opened her military laptop and inserted the drive. Of course it was encrypted. Fortunately, her government-issued computer could decrypt it.

Documents about top-secret Russian technology and the locations of seemingly important people. Interestingly, some of the documents were stamped with a distinctive emblem. It consisted of a crown surrounded by a triangle inside a circle.

"I should probably give this to the intel guys," Jenna muttered to herself, taking the laptop and putting the flash drive back into the pistol.

It was nighttime at this point. On her way to the building where the intelligence officers worked Jenna decided to stop and take a look at the New York skyline. It looked amazing, minus the fires and exposed girders.

* * *

_For Zakhaev_

_August 23, 2016_

_Inner Circle cell #21_

_Manhattan, New York_

Grigory hung up his cell phone and rubbed his temples. He was standing in an alley downtown, and their armored SUV was idling nearby with the rest of the team waiting in it.

He returned to the SUV and took his seat next to the driver, Antonov.

"Makarov's given us orders to find the drive. It's hidden in a Glock 18 machine pistol. Luckily, it is embedded with a device that allows us to track it. Anya, you know what to do."

A young, reluctant female operative sitting behind him nodded and took out a tablet computer, her hands shaking nervously.

"I-it's located at a nearby American forward operating base, s-sir," she stuttered.

"Good," Grigory replied, smiling.

"Lighten up a bit, Anya. This shouldn't be too hard," Erik, another operative, assured as he adjusted the RPK machine gun in his arms.

"С нами Бог," said Grigory. "God is with us."

Everyone was dressed in urban clothing, equipped with light load-bearing gear and such. Upon Grigory's utterance of the Inner Circle's motto, all of the terrorists started putting on protective face masks resembling the kind hockey players wore.

Anya lifted up her operator ballcap, which covered most of her mid-length black hair save an even-length fringe and messy hair sticking out the back. She did so to make room to put on her own mask. She inserted a mag into her TAR-21 assault rifle while the others loaded theirs.

Grigory tapped his G36C and lightly punched Antonov in the shoulder. Antonov started driving towards the American compound.

Everyone inside the SUV was silent. The only noises heard were the vehicle's engine, the rustling of clothing, and the occasional clinking of magazines inside ammo pouches.

A few blocks out, Antonov stopped the SUV and cut the engine.

"Let's go."

The Inner Circle members ducked in an out of alleys as they went to the US base.

A single guard watched the gateway. The area wouldn't seem like a base to normal eyes if it weren't for the ACU-clad soldiers standing guard.

"Anya. Guard. Knife," Grigory whispered.

She winced. How many times did she have to tell these guys that she wasn't good at killing? Only a tech specialist, nothing else.

"And stop shivering," Grigory added.

She quickly and quietly slipped behind the guard, jumped up and placed a gloved hand over his mouth, and thrust her knife into his chest. Unfortunately, she was too weak to drag him out of the open. She was barely tall enough to even reach up to him, making this all the more complicated.

Erik sighed and dashed out to drag the body in. Antonov pulled open the chain-link fence gate as the other three entered. They split off from Antonov, then made their way to the motor pool, taking cover beneath a transport truck as a Humvee pulled out. Once it was gone, they then waited for a guard to walk away.

"Where's the drive now?" Grigory asked in a low voice.

He glanced at the tablet. He then looked up. The target was standing somewhere between the barracks and the command center.

The terrorists broke from cover and sprinted to the barracks. Erik glanced around the cover and identified the target. Young female. Uniform and kit indicated special operations. She heard the noise and immediately turned around, her hand instinctively going to the pistol in her holster.

"You're compromised. Should I take the shot?" Antonov asked as he placed her in his sights.

Grigory squinted at the gun she was slowly drawing. It looked strangely familiar.

"No, no! Standby. Do not, I repeat, do not take the shot! I think that might be the drive! Anya, see if it checks out."

Except she couldn't do that, because the light would certainly give away their position. She decided to face the punishment later instead of get captured or shot to death by a bunch of Americans. As she tried to put the tablet away, the device slipped from her hands and clattered to the ground.

Jenna promptly pulled the G18 out all the way, picking up her pace as she approached the source of the noise. With her free hand, she cracked a chemlight and tossed it behind the truck they were behind, revealing the silhouettes of about three individuals. She rounded the corner, gun at the ready and finger on the trigger.

"Freeze motherfucking hands!" she snapped.

Grigory sighed, looking up at the American, gesturing towards the Glock. Jenna stepped back at the sudden motion, her grip on the weapon tightening.

"I hope you know that's ours," Grigory muttered, leaning to the side and blinking at something behind Jenna.

Antonov placed his pistol's barrel straight to the back of her head.

"Say nothing. You come with me," he growled in a heavily-accented voice.

"Heh… Russkie fucktard. Probably the first time you've poked a girl in the back with your barrel, hm?" she mocked, smirking as she felt the muzzle dig deeper into her hair.

She sighed, releasing her hold on the gun. She slowly brought her hands up, planning to quickly take hold of the pistol pressed to her head and get it pointed in a different direction. Before she could, however, the three terrorists in front of her snatched the gun and ran while the man behind her took her wrists and restrained her.

"Aww shit."

Antonov forced her to the ground, pistol-whipping her in the back of the head. Her face smacked against the pavement. When she recovered from her daze, she rolled over to see the man still running away.

"Motherfucker," she growled, spitting to the side and taking off after him, knife in hand.

Frost stepped out of the barracks to take a light when he saw her running after something with her blade out. He called out to no response, and started to follow her. On the way, he instinctively whipped out his sidearm, flicking the safety off.

Jenna surprised Antonov with a swift flying kick to the back, causing him to stumble. Jenna rolled and looked up, only to see Frost rushing towards her.

"F-Frost?"

Antonov quickly recovered, pulling his handgun up and acquiring a sight picture on what he thought was Jenna. He realized the target already had his own weapon out. He dropped down and pulled Jenna off the ground, backing away.

"She's gonna fuckin' get it!" he screamed, violently pressing the gun into Jenna's temple.

Frost prepared to plant one between the terrorist's eyes, but not before two more appeared with assault rifles and sprayed a few rounds in his direction. They impacted near his feet, causing him to stagger back. He snapped off a few rounds, but again came another burst. Frost spotted a nearby pile of crates and scrambled behind it, waiting for the fire to cease before checking again. They were already out of sight.

Nearby soldiers were rushing out with a medley of M16 and M4 based weapons, frantically searching for the threat after hearing the gunshots. Frost pointed in the direction the terrorists headed. He flicked out his dry mag and slapped a new one in, joining the wave of men.

"Eyes on! Engage!" an MP yelled.

"Get her out of here," Grigory muttered as he forcefully shoved Jenna into Erik, who dragged her behind cover.

Grigory and Antonov returned fire while Anya ran to the SUV to make sure it was still safe. A couple of soldiers took hits and dropped to the ground, sending the rest into cover. Frost sprinted forward, grabbing a downed guard's M16.

Erik handcuffed Jenna and the terrorists entered their armored SUV. He threw Jenna into the trunk while the others took their seats.

"Get us the hell outta here!" Grigory ordered as Antonov stepped on it.

Frost knelt and unleashed a barrage of almost cyclic three-round bursts at the vehicle, failing to damage it. He got up, stepped back, and threw the gun to the ground in rage.

"FUCK! FUCK! MOTHERFUCKERS!" he screamed, once again drawing his pistol and preparing to rush after them.

But Grinch quickly came from behind and grabbed the drag handle on his plate carrier, pulling him back before he tried to give chase.

"Come on, man. You're not gonna catch up to them."

* * *

The next few days were a blur of frantic activity. An operation was being set up to rescue Jenna but finding the terrorists would be extremely difficult.

The base commander finally addressed the participants of the op. Some special attendees were present from the NYPD's counter-terrorism units.

"Last night, 2200 hours, one of Team Metal's operators tried to chase down a couple of trespassers but ended up captured. Their motive is unknown. The captured soldier in question is a female medic, callsign 'Hook.' This operation is being launched at the request of Team Metal and they have been given a green light by JSOC. Intelligence believes that she is being held in this area. We've narrowed it down to an abandoned warehouse. However, we have no knowledge of how many tangos are occupying it. Considering the circumstances, we will assume that they are planning to execute her after torture and interrogation.

"NYPD's gonna lock down the perimeter first thing. National Guard units will be on standby for reinforcement. We'll have teams breaching the nearby buildings to search for possible enemy personnel and alternate locations 'Hook' might be held at. Team Metal themselves will be carrying out the actual rescue. Infil will be via MH-6 Little Bird.

"Rules of engagement are as follows: We are in a civilian area and only have jurisdiction to fire if fired upon. Positive target ID is preferable. Only Delta Force is cleared to engage before being fired upon. Ladies, gentlemen, I want this one handled professionally. The Russians are gone, so we need to put ourselves back on a leash. It took a lot to bend the rules to even get greenlit to fire in the city limits. Operation launches in two hours. Good luck and godspeed."

Frost got up and clenched his fists. He wasn't going to let them take her away from him.

As the Delta men geared up, they noticed Frost's more violent demeanor as he forcefully rammed 5.56 rounds into his magazines, muttering to himself.

"Frost, we're also pissed that we've lost Hook too, but what's up?" Grinch asked in concern. "You actually worried?"

Frost indignantly averted his eyes and started stuttering.

"N-no way! She's j-just really goddamn stupid! Who knows what kind of shit the dumbass is gonna try to pull?"

He narrowed his eyes and spoke clearly.

"And it was my fault. I let those fuckers slip through my fingers."

Sandman walked in and nodded.

"Five mikes. Get your ass to the Little Bird," he ordered.

* * *

_-Around the same time-_

_Flight Delayed_

_August 25, 2016_

_Cpl. Natalia Petrova_

_VDV Spetsnaz/Loyal PMC_

_Undisclosed airport, Pakistan_

Natalia tiredly rubbed her eyes. She refused to sleep in fear of having more nightmares.

"All units, return to security HQ, this is urgent!" a voice called on the radio.

Natalia jogged back to meet them. There, Koslov was waiting as a small crowd of Spetsnaz and PMC operators gathered.

"Everyone here?" he asked. "Yes? Good."

He began to speak.

"So, ladies, gentlemen. Makarov's forces are probably going to attack the airport very soon. They either advance in the direction of the police and army or into the airport, where we are. And we're much less dangerous to them. Or, so they think. We'll put up the hardest fight we can give these fuckers. Engineers have already booby-trapped the entrance areas with C4 explosive and such. Defenses are being set up as we speak. They consist of debris such as luggage, baggage carts, and golf carts. There will be three 'rings' of defense. Once one is overwhelmed we fall back to the next. Makarov's forces might be easy work but we also must take into consideration the police too. Civilians should be rounded up and brought to a safe area. Once the terrorists have concluded their attack we have to evacuate quickly via civilian vehicles before the cops get us."

He explained this all very rapidly, as the Inner Circle members were already approaching the entrances.

"All right. Petrova, Chernenko, Kaminski, Kuznetsov. On me!"

As they were running, Natalia took a glance at Peter's weapon. PKP Pecheneg. Apparently she wasn't the only one to pick something new. She felt her PM-9 dangling from her strap and thumping against her hip as she ran.

They found themselves at the first ring just in time to meet the hostiles coming in through the doors, spraying their weapons. Natalia threw herself behind the pile of makeshift cover and loaded a mag into her AKS-74. Peter had already deployed his bipod and began suppressive fire.

Natalia readied a flashbang and tossed it over before popping up and returning fire. No matter how many rounds the five emptied into the human waves coming for them, they still kept pouring in.

"Detonating charges, get down!" a PMC engineer yelled.

The charges detonated, blowing off multiple limbs and staining the walls with blood. Natalia winced as a severed hand flew by her and flopped a few meters away.

"Oh shit, they got riot shields!" Kaminski panicked.

"Try to get grenades behind 'em," Koslov replied.

"Goddammit Kaminski, your hands are shaking! Calm down and focus, man!" Kuznetsov added.

The riot shield soldiers took up position at the front of the wave and pressed their shields against the cover, sticking their weapons out from behind and shooting.

"All right! Fall back!" Koslov ordered.

Natalia broke out into a sprint to get behind something. She heard someone call her name behind herself.

"Petrova, this thing's slowing me down! Watch my six!" Peter shouted.

Natalia nodded and slung her AK. She took out the PM-9, squeezed the front grip tightly, and pulled the trigger.

The SMG helped to suppress the terrorists due to its insane rate of fire.

"All right, I'm good!" Peter said.

"Okay, cover me! Moving and reloading!" Natalia replied, breaking into a dash and switching mags. She turned a corner, slipping then scrambling behind the wall.

"Kuznetsov, fire your grenade launcher out there while the others get to second ring. I'll cover you," Koslov said.

He leaned around the corner and shot at the advancing enemies while Kuznetsov stepped out and launched a grenade. Before he turned and ran toward the next line of cover, Koslov noticed the pile of dead terrorists and mercs already covering the floor.

Peter tapped Kuznetsov's shoulder and pushed him behind himself as he opened up on the soldiers who were already showing up. Right when he was about to take out one guy his PKP went _click _and he saw the terrorist's barrel. He quickly got down before a flurry of bullets flew a few inches above his head.

"Hey, I'm changing!"

Natalia double-tapped a handful of enemies while Peter fed a new belt into his LMG. She promptly got down as Peter continued his spraying.

She looked over at Kaminski, whose hands trembled when he tried to insert a new mag. He missed multiple times, panting furiously and wincing each time he missed the magwell. In frustration he temporarily abandoned the AK and took out a Striker shotgun.

One of the mercs was ready to set off the next set of explosives but as he readied the clapper one of Makarov's men scored a lucky headshot.

"I got it!" Koslov yelled, taking the small remote. "Fire in the hole."

"Next ring! Retreat!"

"Don't need to tell me twice," Kaminski muttered to himself, sprinting after the rest.

The last ring was at the top of a line of escalators. Natalia jogged behind Kaminski and saw his foot catch on the last step. He tripped and his body slumped over a pile of baggage.

"Get your ass outta my face!" Natalia yelled. She pushed Kaminski over and leapt behind the makeshift wall.

The Russians at the top dropped all of their grenades to let them roll down and let the shrapnel take care of the enemy.

Natalia stood up and fired at the terrorists below. But she was running dry with her AK and so were the rest with their own primaries.

"Here comes the boom!" a PMC radioed as he pressed his clapper.

Nothing happened.

"Dammit! Who forgot to insert the detonators?" he complained.

The enemy's numbers had definitely thinned but they were still coming. Riot shielders were slowly trudging up the steps.

Natalia noticed the controls and made a split second-decision. She hit a green button and the escalators started moving.

The men who were on the down escalators tried to fight their fatigue but they couldn't advance up the stairs. Some foolishly kept going and were picked off, others pulled back and either went for cover or went up the other escalators.

The enemies on the up escalators approached the defense faster and managed to take out some of the defenders. Koslov stabbed a hostile who managed to breach the wall and almost killed a few freaked-out civvies.

Natalia shoved an enemy who got to the top of the up escalator she was nearby. He tumbled down the moving steps, suffering more abuse than he should have.

The terrorists had mostly retreated and a wave of relief overcame the Russians.

That is, until they saw why they retreated.

A man clad in heavy armor and an intimidating helmet stomped up the stairs. He lugged a machine gun and opened fire.

"Nope. I'm outta here, screw this!" Kaminski said before taking off.

"Get back here! Whatever. Focus fire on the… juggernaut!" Koslov ordered.

Natalia cursed her luck. Her AK was empty and her PM-9 wouldn't do shit against the armor. Kaminski's shotgun would have been nice. Kuznetsov was out of grenades and Koslov didn't have any explosives he could use at all. Peter's barrel was steaming, but he kept a barrage of rounds against the juggernaut.

Natalia heard a loud beep and an engine behind herself. She turned around and gasped as she saw Kaminski in a golf cart shooting toward them.

The soldiers threw themselves out of the way while Kaminski bailed from the small vehicle. It smashed through the wall, plunged down the steps, and collided with the juggernaut. The man's armor was heavy enough to slow down the cart and he started tumbling down with it. At the very bottom, Natalia saw a wrecked golf cart, a crushed pile of armor beneath it, and a pool of red liquid streaming out.

"Shit," Koslov panted. "Nice one."

Plenty of the PMCs were dead at this point, having given their lives to protect the civilians.

A merc reactivated the elevators. The survivors filled them and went down to the parking garage. The security officers not taken out during the initial attack guarded the civilians.

"Let's get outta here," Koslov said as everyone started taking over assorted civilian vehicles. He got into the driver's seat of a large pickup and Kuznetsov took shotgun seat.

Natalia, Peter, and Kaminski ended up in the back.

They had formed a small convoy and sped out to outrun the police.

Sirens began blaring behind them.

"Sounds like my first driving exam," Peter muttered.

"I never took mine at all," Natalia admitted.

"Uh, guys? Look, there's a million of them!"

A swarm of police cars were chasing down the convoy. Officers fired out of their windows at the operators.

"What do we do now, sir?" Kaminski asked. "We're outta rounds and we can't shoot back!"

"That's not our problem. Look in front of us," Peter said.

A roadblock covered the entire stretch of road in front of them. Heavily-armed officers and soldiers prepared to fire.

"Come on!" Kaminski whined.

"Hang in there and hope for a miracle!" Koslov replied.

The miracle came in the form of a Russian-made helicopter spontaneously flying by and strafing the roadblock to pieces.

"Sorry we're late," Irina apologized.

"We ran into a few problems with Makarov's goons," Tasha added.

"There's a hole in my helmet that wasn't there earlier," Dmitri announced. "Anyway, we gotcha covered."

"Where are we going next?" Natalia inquired, sticking her head into the passenger compartment.

"To meet a few friends," Koslov responded.

* * *

_August 23, 2016- A few days earlier_

"I kind of feel like this isn't right," Anya quietly said.

"I'm starting to think you're not loyal to Makarov. Besides, why would you care about these American assholes at all? All of our problems we owe to them," Grigory scolded.

Anya obediently nodded.

"I'm sorry, sir," she apologized.

They arrived at their makeshift base, a warehouse. Antonov waited for one of the guards to open the gate before proceeding in.

"Anyway, we're interrogating this one for all she's worth," Grigory said.

"And why is that, sir?" Erik questioned.

"Well," Grigory explained. "This one's with spec-ops. Ever since Virginia they've been finding our leadership within this country and taking them out. You see what I mean?"

"We're here," Antonov announced.

He powered off the engine and the Russians inside all got out. They approached the trunk and opened it to find Jenna fast asleep.

Grigory slapped her across the face.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he scolded.

"Driver smooth. Got sleepy," Jenna deadpanned.

Antonov smiled slightly and scratched the back of his head before realizing that Jenna was an enemy. But then again, his driving instructor was _still _in the hospital…

Erik quickly blindfolded her and she found herself being led… somewhere.

Anya followed reluctantly, biting her lip. It still felt very wrong to be doing this to someone.

_Snap out of it, you idiot! _she scolded herself. _This is for the good of Russia! _

After a few minutes of walking Jenna was forced into a chair. As she was fastened to it one of the terrorists removed the blindfold.

"We're going to interrogate you," he announced.

"Shocking truth!" Jenna cried.

"First things first…"

* * *

**I know it's disappointing, OK!? I've been juggling recovery from my destroyed flash drive, school, anime, RP, other writing projects, and life being suckish in general. Being bullied seriously bad recently, so I feel like crap. But don't worry, you got this chap, right?**

**I introduced Anya as a new heroine in this chapter, but she will not show up again after this little arc. This story's about Jenna Moore and Natalia Petrova. Instead, Anya will have her own fanfic in the form of a spinoff when RLW is over.**

**Also, I'm planning on a set of one-shots. Stories of other characters, AUs, Q and A, you know, stuff like that.**

**I promise you that this won't be a repeat of the last POW arc. It'll be different, considering the circumstances and Jenna's much different attitude than Natalia's.**

**Anyone who gets the reference behind Jenna's lines during her capture, you officially are a huge weeaboo. Or you're my friend Zoerren. Either way.**

**Happy belated Thanksgiving.**

**Oh yeah, see where the RU side of the story is going? It's obvious that the US side follows Delta Force in MW3 campaign but…**


	17. UPDATE

**Hey guys. Sorry, but no chapter for the main fic this time around. Instead, I put up a oneshot in another entry, which is basically just a collection for this fic. It's a Christmas special! Go check it out, there's shipping and stuff.**

**Hail Santa. ****_WAIT A SECOND_**

**_EDIT: I have deleted this side-fic as of 2016. Let's pretend it never existed. To new readers - trust me, it was cringe._**


	18. Pokerface

**Sorry for the wait, guys. I needed a break and decided to work on a few other projects… then I got Advanced Warfare for Christmas, and you know the rest. Now that I'm already getting sick of the BS in multiplayer, I'm taking a break from **_**that… **_**and writing this. Woo.**

**Shoutout to everyone who followed and faved recently. You know who you are.**

**Check out the Christmas oneshot I wrote for this! It's in collection of oneshots called **_**Am I the Enemy **_**and it has shipping in it! Well, the fic's only one entry, but I promise you'll get more oneshots.**

**And yet another shoutout! This time to Militarygeek13 and her fic, _C'mon We Can Make it Through This! _Check it the hell out, it's got Frost in it! And he writes emotion much better than I do! Yeah, why are you reading my crappy work? While you wait another century for the next chapter, I highly recommend you read it.**

** s/10931380/4/C-mon-We-Can-Make-it-Through-This**

**Enough with that, I know you wanna know what's up with the usual characters.**

**WARNING: Possible offensive content in this chapter. Don't say I didn't warn you.**

* * *

_Pokerface_

_August 23, 2016_

_PFC. Jenna "Hook" Moore_

_Delta Force_

_Inner Circle safehouse, New York City_

Grigory calmly paced back and forth in front of Jenna.

"First things first," he began. "Thank you very much for the laptop. This thing is a goldmine."

Jenna glared at her interrogator and blinked once.

"This is boring already," she yawned, her facial expression uninterested. "I'm at the bottom of the food chain. Not much I can tell ya."

Grigory frowned, hoping that wasn't true. His eyes slowly shifted to the Glock 18 holstered on her thigh. He reached for it, immediately recognizing what it was.

"H-hey! Watch it, sicko!" Jenna snapped. "Don't want your nasty hands near my thigh!"

The Russian took the drive from its hidden compartment and held up the weapon.

"Where did you get this?"

"To be honest, I don't remember."

"Liar!"

"I didn't pay attention in school, don't pay attention on ops."

Grigory was quite fed up with how annoying this kid was. Of course he felt like punishing her. He uttered something to Erik and Antonov in Russian.

They both nodded and stepped towards Jenna.

"Wow, gonna beat me up. So original…"

Instead of striking her, Erik held her down with an iron grip as Antonov unfastened her chest rig.

"The fuck…?"

Erik let go and Antonov tossed the equipment aside.

"I will be honest," Grigory said. "Each time you say something I do not like, we will take something off of you. Seeing where this is going, you'll be down to nothing in no time. The clothes and gear you have are the only thing stopping my friends from using you as their personal toy."

Jenna narrowed her eyes. It was getting serious.

She noticed the one female operative standing in the corner, trying not to pay any attention. And yeah, Jenna did think she was kinda cute.

"All right then, go on ahead, take my stuff and clothes off. But I think I wanna piece of _her. _In the event it does happen."

The three guys recoiled in shock. That kind of backfired.

Anya, said person Jenna was referring to, heard and looked away. The American sure had a sense of humor…. she hoped.

"All right, you're not going to harass her," Grigory growled. "Anya…"

She gratefully accepted and left the room.

"Man, you got rid of the only eye candy in here," Jenna continued. "You guys are fuck ugly and I do not want to ride on you."

Grigory merely ignored that one.

"Let me ask again, where did you get this pistol?"

Jenna figured she wouldn't have anything to lose by revealing it. Not too much, or else she might compromise her team. If she did, Frost would not have been proud of her at all.

"Off a dead officer," she answered.

Well, she wasn't wrong.

"On a submarine… right?"

_Oh shit._

"Uh…"

"And tell me, what were you doing on that sub?"

Jenna spat on the floor. Not really for any reason, just because she thought it was a good idea.

Erik and Antonov approached, and she lost her holster.

Grigory smiled and continued.

"What did you see on the flash drive inside the pistol?"

"Nothing at all!"

"I know you are lying. You had your computer with you, and you had the gun. No coincidence."

Jenna bit her lip. Yeah, he got that one.

And… there went her belt.

_This is some cruel version of strip poker, _she mused.

* * *

_August 25_

Natalia woke up screaming while Peter tried his best to hold her down.

"Damn it, Natalie! Stop kicking! Before you hurt someone!"

"Ma'am, we're here! You'll be fine!"

Natalia stopped struggling when Peter released her. She saw Kaminski trying his hardest to assure her.

"Another nightmare," she sighed.

"Yeah. And from what we heard, you've seen some serious shit."

Natalia looked around. The scene had changed ever since the last time she checked. There were fewer authorities chasing them.

_Why is everything moving?_

Then she remembered that she was in the back of a pickup truck.

They were surrounded by houses at this point. The vehicle finally came to rest in front of a particular place where a man was standing outside the door.

The Spetsnaz operatives dismounted as Koslov talked to the man.

"You must be Yuri?"

"You're the guy Vorshevsky sent? Kid, I have no idea how you made it into GRU."

He unlocked the door and let them in.

"Price is waiting inside."

Natalia was confused, but she shrugged it off and followed.

"Listen, you are to remain professional. These men are the deadliest warriors the world has seen. More effective than us, and the Americans. They are former British SAS and not even the best special ops units in the US can find them. They are currently most wanted by the West right now. We're working alongside them," Koslov explained. "Petrova, you're the best with English here. That's one reason why I chose you. I need you to translate for me when talking to them. I'm not the best with that language."

"Yes, sir," Natalia replied in English.

They met another man on the way.

"Nikolai, I presume?" Koslov asked, extending his hand for a shake.

Nikolai shook his hand heartily.

"Ah, Koslov. It is good to meet you and your team. I've met Pavelovna, Fedorova, and Volkov. Looking forward to sharing the skies with them."

He led them to a room upstairs and gestured to it.

"He's in there. Price! Poacher group is here!"

"Let them in," a British voice strained from the other side.

Koslov opened the door with his men following him in.

Natalia saw an injured man with a Mohawk lying on the bed. In a chair nearby, a bearded guy wearing a boonie hat and chomping on a Villa Clara cigar. He glared at the group of Russians.

"Sir, it's an honor to meet you again," Koslov began, Natalia translating quickly.

"You must have been that green lad in Kamarov's unit. Looked like you were gonna puke, too. Looks like you got a bunch of kids of your own, too," Price responded.

He noticed how promptly Natalia translated.

"You, with the schoolgirl voice."

"M-me?"

"Yes. Tell me, how are you so fluent?"

Natalia thought for a moment.

"Well, I wanted to be an American airline pilot. Then the civil war broke out and I was drafted. But I practiced English anyway."

"Huh. Well, that explains plenty. Didn't expect to see a pretty little thing like you here. Same with these lads. You're all very young."

She tried to take that as a compliment.

Koslov continued to speak.

"Sir, shall we help him?" he inquired, referring to the other man.

"Soap? He's fine. If you want to be useful, call in your flyboy friends. We're getting the hell out of this country."

Natalia agreed, to be honest.

* * *

_New York City, USA_

As Frost and Team Metal boarded their Little Bird, Ramirez and a few of the Rangers were assigned to assist the National Guard.

"Ah, good old-fashioned pulling security for the D-Boys," Dunn sarcastically announced. "We don't even get to do any door-kicking. Just playing cop."

"Sergeant Dunn, stop bitching and moaning about it," Foley scolded. "That kind of attitude will make you lose your stripe."

"I hope Jenna's okay," Ramirez quietly said, extremely concerned.

Foley slapped him on the shoulder.

"She'll be all right. She's in good hands."

Ramirez couldn't help but think about that Frost dude she talked about. This would be his big chance to win her over… away from _him._

Dunn slowed the Humvee as police lights flashed in front of the windshield.

"Just like when I got a parking ticket back in DC," he sighed.

The Rangers rolled down their windows, encountering SWAT officers and National Guardsmen.

"Staff Sergeant Foley, we're coming through," Foley said, holding up his ID to the officer in charge.

"All right, these guys are with you then," the black-clad officer replied, gesturing to the Guardsmen, who were entering their own Humvees.

"Sir, why are _they _with us? The weekend warriors?" Dunn whispered as they drove along.

Their Humvees contrasted with the Rangers'. The Rangers had custom tan paint jobs, and the Guardsmen had the older green-camouflaged vehicles. Both still had an equal amount of battle wear.

"They're actually a lot better than you think. Bore the brunt of the assault on the city when we were in Virginia," Foley said. "Anyway, we're going to be the plan B if Team Metal can't get out. Ramirez. Radio the others."

Team Metal silently waited while their chopper neared the dropoff point.

"Approaching the Y," Sandman announced. "Weapons hold until we're at the X."

The skids touched the pavement of the empty streets as the operators promptly got off.

"Overlord, this is Metal 0-1, we are in motion. Approaching the compound now."

Suddenly, two terrorists appeared, armed with bullpup assault rifles and patrolling in the dark. Their flashlights were on, so taking them out wouldn't be an option. Their friends might have seen their lights flail and realize what was going on.

Frost sighted them and whispered into his mic.

"Visual. Two pax. Take 'em out?"

"Negative. Hold fire until they're closer and farther from the compound."

"Roger."

As they approached, Truck came up with an idea.

"Grinch, Frost. I'll draw them into that alley over there. You two are the best shots, when they're in the alley, drop 'em."

They nodded and slipped into position. Truck went into the alley, kicked over a garbage can, and ran away while the hostiles approached.

Grinch fired first, then Frost.

_Tap, tap._

"Moving, move."

As the four neared the gates, Sandman spoke up.

"All right, you know what to do. Weapons free, let's do this fast."

Frost thought that there were more enemies than he expected, but he shrugged it off as he opened the gate to let the other three through.

* * *

Jenna was in the chair for the past two nights and didn't get to move or anything for that time period. They interrogated her on and off, not giving her any time to rest. They managed to get a little out of her but her defiant personality made it difficult to make progress.

"Well, you're down to just your shirt and underwear at this point. You sure you don't feel like answering?" Grigory urged.

Instead of even trying to say anything witty, Jenna just replied with a simple "fuck you."

Antonov didn't even need a cue this time.

"You got nice legs, I'll tell you. I wonder what's under that," Grigory taunted as Antonov ripped off the last article of clothing.

That warranted a response of discomfort from Jenna, who was sensitive about her figure.

Grigory immediately realized this and smiled.

"Quite flat, I notice."

"Sh-shut up! Don't bring that up…"

He suddenly received a call on his cellphone and answered it.

After a short exchange in Russian, he notified Anya and Antonov of something.

"They're onto us. We need to talk to the boss. It involves the shipments. We need to secure the documents and get out soon."

Anya took the laptop and the flash drive and followed the other two out. But Grigory stepped back in for a moment.

"I'll leave you with my friend Erik. He's quite strong. I hope you enjoy him."

The door closed and Jenna trembled a bit as the hulking Russian slowly went behind her to unfasten the handcuffs.

"Your abdomen is toned and your limbs are too, to a lesser extent. You may be strong but you will not be able to resist me," he growled as Jenna sat in shock.

Why wasn't she trying to fight him? Or at least run?

The terrorist stepped in front of her, and she immediately raised her fists in defense. But all he had to do was grab her shoulders and force them apart before she stopped trying to hit him.

He then pinned her to the floor and waited for her to stop struggling.

"Good girl. Now stay still."

This wasn't exactly a position Jenna wanted to be in right now. Down to her underwear with some weird big Russian guy holding her down.

For once, she was truly afraid.

Erik suddenly kissed her hungrily, and she could sense the acidic taste of cigarettes lingering in her mouth.

This was the last guy she'd want to do this with. Hell, General Shepherd would have been better.

"One moment," the man whispered into her ear, releasing her so he could undo his fly.

Out of nowhere, the door exploded and four men streamed in holding silhouettes of familiar weapons.

Frost's eyes widened as he saw Jenna almost-naked on the floor and some Russian fuck standing over her. His vision went red as he raised his carbine.

Instead of the precision firing he would usually do, the Delta operator emptied his entire magazine into the assailant, not giving a damn if he wasted all 30 rounds.

It was the incident with Petrova all over again, except this time it was his friend and the person doing perverted things was the enemy. So he could punish with impunity.

He was about to take a Desert Eagle and make the terrorist's face unrecognizable until Grinch held him back. A few seconds later, Frost was no longer in an angry daze and was back to his usual, cool-headed self.

Seeing Hook like that reminded him of what happened to his sister a few years back…

He shook his head to get those memories out of his thoughts. Right now he had to focus.

He bent down to help Jenna off the ground, but she shuddered in fear. He realized that he was wearing goggles, a mask, and a helmet, and was unrecognizable like every other Delta guy.

"Frost, get her up. We'll cover you," Sandman ordered, stepping out the door along with Truck and Grinch. Soon after that, automatic gunfire echoed into the room.

Frost removed his helmet, goggles, and mask, revealing his messy blond hair.

"Hook, it's me, Frost! Come on, let's get outta here," he assured her calmly.

His light blue eyes encountered her hazel irises, and she gave him a bright smile.

"FROST! We're running outta time! Let's move!" Sandman yelled.

Without thinking, Frost drew his pistol, grabbed Jenna by the wrist, and pulled her along. To be honest, he wished he was dragging her into his room... and then lowering her onto the bed...

_Why... am I thinking this,_ he thought, his heart rate speeding up. _Derek, fucking pervert._

"You dumb shit," he muttered after firing a few shots and taking down an enemy with each one. "Why the hell weren't you paying attention? That's why you were captured."

"Easy for you to say. Your name is _Frost, _so you obviously better at staying _frosty."_

Jenna found out that the entire time she was in a warehouse. She never realized that, having been isolated in a single room the entire time.

A soldier with an RPG stood on one of the catwalks, aiming straight for Team Metal.

"RPG!" Truck boomed as they all got behind a large shipping crate.

While everyone else was busy noticing the explosion, Frost spotted a table with a few papers on it.

"Frost, what the hell are you doing?" Sandman snapped, seeing him scanning the documents.

"Sir," Frost began. "It's all in Russian, but look at this logo in the corner. _Fregata. _And from what I can translate, it says something about shipments, chemicals, and Europe."

He took a step back and pointed at the shipping container.

"Same logo."

And there it was, a bird and the text _FREGATA _emblazoned on it.

"Huh. All right, Hook, stay down. Truck, suppress. Grinch, keep an eye on Hook. Frost, secure the documents and help me open that."

While Frost stuffed the papers into his dump pouch along with empty magazines, Sandman patted himself and realized something.

"Shit. Didn't bring bolt cutters."

"No time."

Frost took a nearby sledgehammer and broke off the heavy chain.

"A sledgehammer? Way to improvise, Frost! A sledgehammer… I feel like that's a reference to something."

The two opened it only to find nothing inside.

"What the fuck?"

Jenna got a hold of a radio and was already notifying command of what they found.

* * *

Meanwhile, Ramirez, the Rangers, and the National Guardsmen spotted a truck with a shipping container on it fly by.

"Be advised, this is Hunter 2-1 Actual. We just had visual on a truck with cargo on it, headed for the harbor. I thought this place was evacuated," Foley said.

"Hunter 2-1, this is Overlord! Were there markings on the container!?"

There was a short exchange inside of the Humvee between the occupants.

"Started with an F," Dunn mentioned.

"Yeah, saw an R also. An E, G, A, T," Ramirez added, thinking for a second. "Frigate or something."

Foley passed that to Overlord.

"Hunter 2-1, you are cleared to pursue and engage that truck!"

"Roger that."

Dunn promptly started up the Humvee and slammed on the pedal while the other vehicles followed behind.

"Ramirez, turret!"

He could see the rear end of the trailer. He spun up the minigun but didn't fire, knowing he didn't have a clear shot to stop it.

A voice crackled over his radio, and it belonged to the gunner in the Humvee behind him.

"Lucky you, got the M134. We got the usual Ma Deuces."

"Trust me, at least you have a shield. I got nothing to protect me."

Bullets started whizzing by from the direction of the truck.

"Guys! They're firing at us!" Ramirez yelled down.

A round bounced off his helmet, knocking his head to the side.

"The NYPD have a roadblock set up ahead, slow it down," Foley ordered after receiving a notification from the comms.

The officers aimed at the windows and tires. Once it was within range, they opened fire on it to no avail. The tractor trailer slammed through the roadblock, hitting several cops.

The line of Humvees came to a stop as they were ordered not to pursue.

"We can't intercept it," Overlord said. "All available assets cannot be mobilized quickly enough."

Ramirez found himself slightly nervous. What was in the box?

* * *

The pilot set the Little Bird down while Frost shielded Jenna from the rotor wash.

The pilot whistled upon the sight. Teenaged-looking girl who was almost naked, and a Delta guy whose hair came straight out of 2007. Just another day in the 160th.

"It's cold!" Jenna exclaimed as she sat on the platform.

"Stay close then," Frost replied, taking the papers out of his dump pouch and securing them in the admin pouch on the front of his vest.

After that, it was debriefing for the team. Jenna thought about another kind of de_brief_ing for a second and tried not to think about that.

She was brought into a separate room to report what happened to her in captivity.

"Yeah, his mouth, it was nasty and stuff," she admitted to the soldier recording what she was saying. "And I was real scared. Thing is, I'm fine now. Because Fros-, uh, Westbrook and the team came at the last second. They kept me awake for two days, but when I saw them, I felt so much better."

The documents recovered were actually important intel for operations against Makarov and were immediately spread throughout the NATO countries, specifically in Europe.

"It would've been nice if we had that drive, though," Sandman admitted.

Frost took a puff of his cigarette.

"Right. So next time, bring it straight to the intel guys, all right, Hook?"

Jenna nodded shamefully.

"Hey, don't be so down. How about this, we'll head down and get you some new equipment. Gear shopping. I know how tacticool you like to be," Frost said, trying to make her feel better.

"S-sure," Jenna replied.

What was important to her was that she got to be alone with him! Maybe this was her chance to confess.

When it happened, she tried to muster the courage to tell Frost how she felt. But for some reason, she really couldn't.

But the moment he took off his headgear and showed her that he was there, she knew he had to be the one.

* * *

**Yeah, here you go. This is the last weird chapter with stuff outside the campaign happening. You see, there's a big gap between the missions **_**Persona Non Grata **_**and **_**Turbulence, **_**this was just supposed to be what happens in that time period. We'll be a bit more back on track by next chapter.**

**So, uh, I decided to take this a different direction. I'm not too sure where I got the idea of "strip poker interrogation" from but that's writing I'm definitely new to. Luckily, just like in Natalia's case, Jenna got away fine thanks to Frost. **

**Ugh, I admit it, it's a bit too similar to Natalia's POW experience. Then again, hers was a bit more controlled than Jenna's.**

**If you call this chapter fanservice at all, then you're welcome for the fanservice, I guess.**

**Uh oh, Fregata-Os. That can't be good. You know what that's about as long as you've played MW3. If you haven't, then why the hell are you reading this fic is beyond me.**

**Maybe I didn't mention this, but Frost does have a sister. You'll see where that's going. If you've been on TVTropes and on a certain CoD page (WMG) then you might know.**

**For the record, Anya, Grigory, and Antonov made it out alive. That's setting you up for Anya's spinoff fic, when it happens.**

**Another reference to _Same Stuff, Different Day _in here. Dunn got a parking ticket in DC. **

**Speaking of references, Frost's line about dragging Jenna along is partly inspired by a line in the C_lannad _visual novel. I'm a giant fanboy of the anime and can't wait for the VN to come out in English this year. Sorry, that was off topic. But seriously. If you like anime and haven't watched it yet, C_lannad. _**

**Thanks to my friend for helping out a bit with character designs. Now I have a better idea of how to describe character appearances, as you saw a bit of in this chap.**

**Here's to a new year! And hoping WW3 really doesn't become a thing!**


	19. Multicam is the New Black

**Well, here I am yet again, continuing this thing… not like anyone's reading it anymore. Where did my fans go? Don't tell me the 141 got you.**

**Ignore the suckish chapter title, couldn't think of anything better.**

**Guess I might as well try.**

* * *

_A few weeks later_

_September 15, 2016_

_Fort Bragg, North Carolina_

A familiar _click _sounded quietly. Someone activated the safety on their weapon.

Debris on the ground went _crunch _beneath someone's foot as they walked casually towards their destination.

Jenna smirked, inspecting the targets she practiced on.

Now she looked a lot less like a soldier than she did at the beginning of the invasion. Her hair had grown a bit more to the point she could actually tie a bit of the back into a tiny tail. It was still the same messy shag style, as Frost pointed out.

She'd graduated from the old digital UCP-patterned ACUs and finally got rid of the last piece, the moisture-wicking tan T-shirt. Instead she donned the latest Crye G3 Multicam pants with the built-in kneepads, and now used a black tactical T-shirt which had the Velcro to stick patches on. In addition to the usual US flag were morale patches, her favorite being a shoulder patch depicting a shield with blue and white wings on it, the symbol from a show she liked to watch when she was younger.

The stuff was paid for using Sandman's account, and Frost was duly chewed out for it. It was slightly out-of-character for him to do something like this, though. Frost was much more disciplined than Jenna would ever be.

Discipline aside, these were signs that she was becoming an actual operator, and separating herself from the grunt identity she had in the past. She enjoyed all the perks of being in Delta Force.

But she was still a Ranger at heart, and technically on paper too. She was merely attached to Delta, not part of it.

She forgot why she was a Ranger in the first place, but she was about to receive a rude awakening.

A voice came from behind her that she could recognize immediately.

"Nice groupings, Hook. You're getting better at this."

_Frost._

Jenna's heart began to beat faster as she turned around and smiled at him cheerfully.

"You think so?"

"Yeah. The evidence speaks for itself. But, uhh, you might want to practice some trigger discipline… your finger isn't where it should be."

Frost swore he could have heard the sound of her heart breaking right then and there.

_Damn it… how could I forget? This is something that I usually do right, one of my good habits! What the hell._

Before she could look any sadder, Frost remembered why he was there in the first place.

"Right. Well, someone's here to see you, and it's kinda important. Let's go, I left the Humvee running."

As the vehicle zoomed along the road, Jenna continued the conversation.

"Who? And why?" she questioned as she stared out the window.

"Well," Frost sighed. "It's a guy from the brass. It's got a lot to do with you being a Ranger."

Jenna suddenly recalled that she was supposed to be a test case for women in combat units, and so far, she was fucking up pretty badly.

"General Bradford. He's got two stars, what rank's that?"

"Major General."

"Good girl. Maybe you're not such a dumb shit after all."

Jenna glanced at Frost, who had a small smile on his face.

_Dumb shit _was kind of his affectionate insult for her, and caught on as her secondary nickname. She wasn't sure if that was good or not.

"Bradford… he's kind of an asshole. He gets how grunt life works, same with operator shit, but he looks down on anyone who isn't a shooter. Doesn't really get how the military works, at least not for us enlisted guys," Frost grumbled.

* * *

Chandler Bradford II impatiently tapped his foot as he waited in his chair, with Sandman, Truck, and Grinch remaining silent. They were waiting for the infamous PFC. Moore, who seemed to be a bit late. Sandman sent out Westbrook to retrieve her.

He scanned the reports from the CO of her company, Lt. Myers, and more importantly, her squad leader, Sgt. Foley.

_How is this kid still here? _he thought, going through the typed text. _She's obviously not infantry material, much less Ranger material. Not even military material._

The report still listed some good things about the medic. For example, she had proven herself to be reliable under fire and extremely loyal. She helped evacuate an entire abandoned evac site in the invasion. And the first day she arrived, she actually managed to show that she could drag a fellow soldier into cover, weight and gear.

_Impossible! The bad outweighs the good! She's slept with multiple men, exercised terrible discipline, abandoned her post during the Battle of Washington DC, and even was captured right after New York! She's incompetent!_

"Sir, all due respect, but you look angry," Grinch interrupted.

"My apologies."

Frost parked the Humvee, got out, and opened Jenna's door.

"Geez, no need to hold the door for me," she said.

"All right, we're late, no time to wait, dumb shit!" Frost quickly explained, grabbing her hand and escorting her to where the team was waiting.

"Ah, the married couple has arrived!" Grinch announced, seeing the two holding hands. "Good move, Frost."

They both turned their heads to look, and their hands were clasped together.

Frost withdrew his arm quickly and looked in the opposite direction as Jenna looked at him, blushing.

_Did he… mean to do that?_

"Ahem," the general cleared his throat not-so-subtly.

Jenna turned her attention to him as he stood up.

"Sir," she nodded.

"Soldier… remember your place. You are to salute me."

She threw up the best salute she could give, and instead of returning the salute, the general waved her off. She was so used to not having to salute superiors that this happened.

_Thanks, Foley._

"And what in the hell happened to your uniform?"

"M-my apologies, sir. I took her here while she was at the range, and she had no time to change."

It was Frost, of all people.

She glanced down at her clothing, then at the attire of the rest. Her outfit wasn't that different from anyone else's. Tactical clothing, unorthodox patches and gear.

"Sergeant, I wasn't talking to you. Moore. Why are you dressed like them when you're not one of them? You're supposed to wear the uniform the Rangers wear, and those are the ACUs!"

Frost continued to defend Jenna, and it was really weird for him to do something like that. Talk back to authority?

"Sir, I'm responsible for that. I took her to purchase the clothing and gear so she could integrate better with us. The day she arrived, we had already outfitted her with new uniform and kit. We did it so she could be like us, and not compromise our missions."

Bradford scowled and waved them off.

"Have her run the kill house," he ordered.

"Hook, run the Gauntlet."

The Gauntlet, Jenna reasoned, was pretty much the older brother to The Pit.

As Jenna, Frost, Grinch, and Truck left, the officer held Sandman back.

"Why would you try to do that?" he scolded. "There's no point in trying to make her look like you guys! She's a liability anyway!"

Sandman remained cool.

"Sir, all due respect, but you don't know her. She's not on our level of expertise but she can definitely handle herself, especially in close combat. Excellent brawler."

"Yes. Because she's a delinquent, and doesn't know anything else!"

_Women do not belong in the Rangers, or the infantry for that matter! This… bitch… is living proof of it._

* * *

Jenna stepped up to the tables, which had the usual assortment of weapons resting on them. She selected the M4A1, being the only assault rifle on the table that she was good with. The SCAR was suspiciously absent, same with the MP5 and MP7. She slipped the USP .45 into her holster and ran through the starting gate.

"Drop those tangos!" Truck urged.

Two targets popped up behind the sandbags, and she fired bursts to take them down. The bell rang as she continued.

"Move up and clear the vehicles!"

Two more targets and a civilian popped up. Jenna sprayed them, accidentally killing the civvy.

"My bad!" she apologized, dashing through the course.

"Targets, first and second floor!"

She stopped and fired, taking a few seconds to clear them out. Moving, she wouldn't have been able to hit them quickly enough.

Bradford shook his head as he followed Grinch and Truck above, watching. She would have been dead in a real situation like this.

"Exterior clear, move inside!"

Jenna moved into the hallway, only for a target to pop out. Unlike the Pit, this time she didn't let it hit her.

"Fuck you!" she yelled, punching it violently instead of using her knife. "Asshole cutout!"

"Up the stairs, move, move, move!"

Jenna ran up the stairs as quickly as she could, tripping at the step on the top and hitting her head on the ground. There it was again, the blood splatter all over her vision.

After recovering, she sprayed the last of her mag to kill the three enemies, miraculously missing the civilian. She did so with one hand rubbing her head and the other holding the assault rifle, hence the lack of accuracy.

"Dogs approaching!"

She found herself at a bridge, as two dog cutouts slid along tracks towards her.

_Click._

"Damn, I'm out!"

She switched to her pistol and killed the human and one dog. She ran towards the second dog and kicked it down.

"Down, boy, down."

She saw two targets come up on the roof. She fired, taking them down, and prepared to reload her M4A1. But she didn't hear the bell.

She missed one!

She took the STANAG mag and threw it at the last target to knock it down. Instead of bothering to reload, she went back to her pistol and kicked down the door in front of her.

Sandman was standing behind a desk, with a civvy on his right, and four tangos, two on each side.

Jenna sloppily emptied her pistol, having taken down three enemies. She could see Sandman wincing behind his sunglasses.

_Click._

_Dammit, my pistol's out too?_

In desperation, she threw the gun at the last target, "killing" it.

"Thanks… for not taking my head off," Sandman muttered.

On the way out, Bradford took Jenna aside.

"Listen, you're probably too stupid to know this, but I'm well aware of how sloppy that was. You're not fit to be a Ranger at all."

He grinned but his eyes were still hostile.

"Expect your training to become harder. Prove me wrong. I expect a lot from you… good luck."

Jenna nodded, hoping that leaving a good impression would help.

"And by the way… you should go back to KP duty."

With that, he turned and took his leave.

"Fuck you," she whispered under her breath.

* * *

Jenna was sweating intensely as she hung from the rope suspended far above the ground. She was clad in full body armor instead of the usual light chest rig she favored.

"Is this fucking necessary?" she complained, making her way back down. "I've gone up and down like a million times!"

"Sorry, it's orders," Frost apologized. "I know you feel like shit. Here, I got some water."

After coming down, she accepted, emptying the bottle in six seconds.

"Thirsty…" she gasped.

A relatively younger woman than the forty-something Bradford appeared all of a sudden and approached Jenna.

"Ah, you must be Private Moore," she greeted.

Frost saluted perfectly, followed by Jenna's much sloppier gesture.

"All due respect, ma'am," Frost began, "she's in the middle of training."

The woman scowled at him.

"What gives you the rights to exercise control over her? She's her own person."

"Ma'am, I outrank her, and I myself have orders."

"I hate when men pull rank like that! Let her talk with me… that's an order!"

Jenna looked upwards in thought.

_Didn't she just say…?_

"I'm sorry that he happens to be abusing his power, it's quite... problematic. Anyway, I believe in you. If you succeed, then the Rangers will be open to women, just imagine that!"

Jenna was very confused at what the heck this lady was saying… she lost her at the word "abusing."

"You might be suffering, but this is our chance. I'm working so that every woman after you will have a better chance of joining. We don't need men in this military anymore, they're too mediocre to be warriors."

_Mediocre?_

Jenna shook her head. This lady was nuts!

"Anyway, once you're done here, come to the kill house, I'm going to supervise your performance there."

Before she turned away, the officer stopped her and shook her hand.

"My bad, I haven't introduced myself yet. I'm General Helen Stelara. I already know who you are, Private Genevieve Moore."

_Genevieve… that's not the name Dad told Mom sounded cute. Not the name Mom said was fitting for me._

Jenna wasn't sure who pissed her off more, Bradford or Stelara.

* * *

Once she had freshened up a bit and changed back into her lighter gear, Jenna walked with Frost to where the Gauntlet was.

"Frost? You look… kinda mad."

"Eh?"

"You have been ever since that Stelara showed up… what's up with her?"

Frost sighed and brushed his hair aside before beginning to explain.

"Long story short, she's a hardcore feminist social justice warrior. She's the kind who pretty much feels that anyone who's got a dick and calls himself a guy is the devil. All that yada yada. Well, all I'll say is good luck to her in a sausage fest of a military like this. She's probably salty that she hasn't won a pissing contest before."

Jenna thought for a second while the two continued walking.

"So… she's from Tumblr?"

"Pretty much."

The two burst into laughter for a good minute or so, stopping for a second to try and catch their breaths.

"I-I'm sorry," Frost gasped. "Didn't expect that kinda thing. Been hanging out with old man Sandman so long I forgot that existed!"

When they made it to the Gauntlet, Team Metal was waiting for them as expected, but this time, they were visually annoyed.

_Stelara._

The general stepped up to greet them first.

"Ah, Genevieve, are you ready?"

She merely ignored her as Sandman began to brief her.

"Hook, this one's going to be a bit different. You'll be doing it in reverse. This time, there'll be breaching charges involved."

Jenna's eyes widened. She wasn't the best with C4.

"Oh no, don't worry. Frost's running with you, he'll handle all the fireworks."

They both stepped up to the table to select their weapons, this time having a better variety.

Jenna selected the usual MP5, and Stelara came behind and took Frost aside as he was inspecting a UMP.

"I already know you know this course inside and out. Well, I don't want you stealing the spotlight at all. Run a pistol only, and make sure she looks good."

"Yes ma'am."

He reluctantly slid the USP .45 out of his holster and nodded at Jenna.

"Let's get this done with, Hook."

When it was done, Frost took out most of the targets, landing each shot he fired. Jenna wasted all of her mags and took out four, minus a civilian.

"You're... literal... trash," Stelara scolded Frost.

He merely shrugged.

"You can't blame her for not being as good as me. She's just a medic. Wasn't it you who picked her out for 75th in the first place?"

"Just a medic!? No, she's not just a medic. She's a goddess. Having to put up with you, being in your shadow all the time. How you boy scouts act sometimes make me sick. Don't try to downplay her like that. Even if Bradford pulled strings for a less capable candidate, she could still fight circles around half of her regiment. Get out of my sight."

Frost kept his cool demeanor and walked away as he made sure his chamber was clear.

On the way, he noticed Bradford was there, and chatting with Sandman.

As soon as Stelara left, Bradford went to Jenna.

"What kind of shit was that?" he snapped. "I saw that happen! You just can't do it right no matter what you try! Westbrook did so much better, why can't you be like him!?"

She lost her cool and exploded in the general's face.

"Sir, I'm not a goddamn shooter! I'm not a fucking Delta operator either! Just a Ranger! Not even a good one at that, I got picked for this! I can't perform on par with someone like that, you douchebag! If you're going to be a piece of shit like that, stick it up your ass… sir!"

Bradford was caught off guard by this sudden display of insubordinate behavior, and slapped Jenna across the face.

After she recovered from the shock, she looked right back at him with eyes that were windows into hell. Her fist tightened naturally.

"You'll regret that."

Frost suddenly ran up and held her back before she could do anything stupid.

"Now, now, Hook, just calm down. Breathe. All right?"

He nodded at Bradford, telling him that now was a good time to evacuate.

Frost tried to calm her down as the general quickly took his leave.

"Hook, you know better than that…"

Suddenly, she collapsed around him, burying her face in his chest… and he felt his shirt getting wet.

"I'm sorry, Frost," she sobbed, her words muffled by his shirt. "I really didn't want to get mad, I didn't. But when he slapped me like that…"

"It's okay. I didn't like that either, and if I didn't knew better, I would have tried to knock his teeth out too."

He awkwardly held her for a moment until she was done. For once, Grinch wasn't around to give him hell for it.

He slowly eased her off, stroking her hair.

"Now, promise me that you won't do that again… the last thing we need is for you to get court-martialed."

"Sure thing, sir."

"Good. Who the hell thought it was a good idea to pick you as a candidate for the Rangers anyway?"

* * *

A few days later, General Bradford shook hands with a new recruit coming into Delta Force, another medic like Moore.

"It's good to meet you, son," he greeted over the sound of the Humvee's engine.

"Whatever."

The recruit was somewhat disrespectful and nonchalant, but the General believed that he was good soldier material anyway. Young, impressionable, naïve, and loyal… he wouldn't disobey anything he ordered him to do.

"Did you happen to earn a nickname back in your old unit?"

"Yeah, they called me McCoy."

"I'm eager to see you try out for Team Metal, McCoy. Have your sergeant notify me when you're ready. Good luck."

McCoy shuffled away, searching for the barracks he'd be staying in.

Meanwhile, Jenna had concocted a plan to prove Bradford wrong. Of her own accord, she trained harder than ever, and improved a significant amount, much to Frost's approval.

The idea was to disguise herself as a man, preferably some random shooter Team Metal was considering as a member. It wouldn't be too hard. In Grinch's words, she was "flat as a board" and had short enough hair to pass for a guy, at least, when standing near Frost.

She asked Sandman to contact Bradford as soon as she was ready. To disguise herself more, she wore a jacket for once, donned sunglasses, opted for a vest, and was going to use a helmet for once. She would avoid speaking, hoping for a side effect of "man of few words."

She passed someone on her way out of the barracks as she lazily held the helmet over her shoulder.

_Is he lost?_

"Hey, is this the barracks?" he asked, taking a good look at her.

She nodded and pointed, refusing to speak.

As McCoy thanked her and continued on, he looked back for a second.

_Is it just me, or did that guy look kind of cute? _he thought.

Jenna put on her helmet and clipped the strap closed, adjusting it as she walked.

She met Bradford there and promptly selected her weapons from the table.

"McCoy, is that you? Yes, it is! I'm surprised that you want to do this already! Are you ready?"

Jenna replied by taking her place at the starting gate.

Truck nudged Sandman and gestured to the person about to run the course.

"That the newbie tryin' out? Looks about Hook's size! Heh, looks like she's got competition."

She started, moving up and taking about two shots for each target. When the next batch popped up after the bell, she paused to aim, this time not having to spray, and sparing a civilian.

"_Remember," Frost said. "This ain't Afghanistan. Don't fire random shots to suppress an enemy who's close enough for you to hit. Russians are different from OpFor Talibs, they got balls and they'll be within your range. Use that to your advantage and actually aim for them."_

Approaching the building, she decided to conserve carbine ammo, swapping to the pistol and knocking down the targets there. It was a bit slow, but understandable because it wasn't a rifle she was using.

Knowing that a hostile would pop out before the stairs, she already had her knife ready, and jabbed it a moment after it revealed itself.

The rest of the course was done better than last time, but still below-par compared to the average Delta member.

Looks like the General was blinded by how she was a guy.

He clapped as he walked towards her, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"McCoy, well done! That's how you do it, fan-fucking-tastic!"

He took the hand and placed it on his hip as she walked away as quickly as she could.

_Is it just me, or were his shoulders a bit narrower than I remember? Was he that slim?_

On the way out, Jenna passed Stelara, who scowled at her.

She heard her muttering something angrily.

The actual, real McCoy (bad pun) saw the Gauntlet run happen. Same with the rest of the guys. Frost was going to mention that it was a bit suspicious that Hook wasn't there, but he was too busy watching.

* * *

Sandman stood in his office with Bradford in front of him, and McCoy off to the side.

"Sorry, sir, but no can do."

"But, you saw it with your own eyes! He did better than Moore!"

Sandman grinned, wiping off his sunglasses.

"He's a better shooter, no doubt. But the question is whether he's a good medic or not. And his track record ain't the best, I'll say that. On the other hand, if you guys acknowledged her existence, Moore would've been a war heroine by now."

Bradford tried to stay calm as he stormed out of the room. Sandman sat back down onto his chair while McCoy thought for a second.

"Wait a second… I never ran the course!"

Sandman looked up from the paperwork he had.

"…what?"

"It was that one guy… the one who looked kinda like a girl…"

"That's it, you're coming with me!"

Sandman took McCoy out the door, forcefully putting on his sunglasses as they both went to the barracks.

He knew that he'd find Hook in the rec room bothering Frost or something, and he was right.

A young, short-haired brunette girl wearing PT shorts and the issue tan T-shirt looked up from her seat on the couch, quickly getting off her crisscrossed legs and leaning forward.

"Hey," she greeted, closing her journal. "You must be the new guy!"

McCoy got a good look of her and gasped.

_So… she was a girl… And fuck, she's cute!_

Frost glanced up from his pool game of supremacy with Grinch, taking the cigarette out of his mouth as he glared at McCoy.

_Don't look at her like that, _he thought.

_Wait. Why am I even thinking like this? Am I... jealous?_

He pressed his smoke into a nearby ashtray and returned to the game, trying to ignore it.

* * *

**Whoops, an extra chapter. Not even involving any combat.**

**Sorry for ignoring Natalia's side of the story, you'll see more of that sooner or later. For now, I thought I'd introduce yet another conflict.**

**You see, remember how Jenna was a test case for the Rangers? Yeah, you'd expect me to have gone into a bit more detail on that, well, here you go.**

**So it comes down to a bunch of BS going on up in the brass, between two equally pretentious generals, one a sexist misogynist and a social-justice-warrior-feminist. Two types of people who shouldn't exist, much less exist in the military.**

**Yeah, introduced a new-ish character, McCoy. He has a very short role in the campaign, and if you paid any attention to the game you know what might happen to him. And yes, he's got a crush on Jenna.**

**Whoops, is that Frost acting even more tsundere-ish and being jealous? No way to tell, he's that much of a wild card!**

**The part where Frost teaches Jenna a bit more on how to not fight like she's in Afghanistan is a little taste of real life. If you watch first-person GoPro combat footage (for example, Funker530 on Youtube), you'll see soldiers firing in an effort to suppress Taliban fighters who are hard to see. Seeing that Jenna was an Afghanistan veteran and spent most of her combat time there (not fighting Russians, as this fic would imply otherwise), it would make sense for her to be used to that.**

**Fun little story, this fic was originally going to be much different. It was going to be about Jenna being a support soldier, but disguising herself as a guy to go out on combat missions and eventually gaining enough trust from the men that she could be an actual shooter.**

**I dropped the idea, but I recently watched the anime **_**Ouran High School Host Club, **_**where the main character is actually a girl having to act like a guy to help pay off a debt. Well, that kind of reminded me of the old idea, and I decided to bring it back as a part of the sub-plot. (Sub-subplot?) As you can see, Bradford really likes her as a guy, but Stelara hates her. Hilariousness will most likely ensue.**

**Expect the entire test case thing to become more prominent, as in, being one of Jenna's primary motives to fight.**

**Anyway, I have finals coming up… they're gonna suck. Better stop procrastinating my study and wrap this up.**

**See you suckers next time!**

***grows mushrooms in the corner***


	20. Hello, This is Your Captain Speaking

**All right, I think I'll start off by thanking a few new fans. TheDoctorsAltar, coffeelover22, REDvsBLUE10, mrnoobishdude123, TMDF-Artyom, and AusFlyer- thanks to all of you for the follows/favs/reviews. I appreciate it very much and it gives me more motivation to keep continuing. As for all you "fans" who are silent and/or have forgotten about this, I'm a wee bit disappointed.**

**I've especially been feeling kinda emo lately because two of my friends IRL who read this haven't been keeping up, and, well, that says something.**

**The other day, some asshole in PE thought it would a good idea to stomp on my hand and my phone on the way to get a basketball. (Later, his friends hit me in the head with the ball, and lied, saying it was an accident.) As a result of that, my hand hurts like hell, but I'm writing this because I love you guys (N-NOT THAT WAY, B-BAKA)**

**Geez, everyone loves Ramirez. I dunno why, to be honest. I'm not sure how I wrote him that made you guys like him so much. If you ask me, he's not very well developed. If someone could tell me, that would be appreciated.**

**Ah, go to my author page and vote for ships if you want to see them! Like, which ones you wanna see. There's also the option of characters ending up alone, if you'd prefer that, too.**

**Oh, just a reminder. If anyone needs any character references for any reason (appearances, descriptions, details, whatever), just ask me and I'll provide whatever you might need.**

**Blegh, enough of this TL;DR A/N, it's fun time**

* * *

_Turbulence_

_October 3,__2016_

_Valentina Sokolova_

_Russian FSO Agent_

_Il-96-300PU – "Command Point"_

"Moscow, this is Command Point en route to Hamburg… skies are clear."

Valentina adjusted her vest and calmly fixed her cuffs.

"All teams, report in."

The voice belonged to Leonid Pudovkin, the commander.

"Team One, the President's office is secure."

"Team Two, lower deck is clear."

"Team Three, forward Cabin is secure."

"We land in Hamburg in two hours. Team One, remain with the President until touchdown.

The FSO agent lightly felt her hair, making sure her bun was neat and nothing was sticking out at all.

She glanced toward Andrei Harkov, a fellow newbie to the team, and ever since very recently, her boyfriend. He smirked, stood on his tiptoes for a second, and then returned to his previous position,

President Vorshevsky stepped in as Valentina turned her attention outside the window to see a MiG-29 escort.

A few seconds later his daughter, Alena, came through the door. She waved at Valentina, who nodded reassuringly. The two were friends, Valentina being one of the few female agents, and as a result often being assigned to watch Vorshevsky's daughter. She was notable for being very quiet and never speaking, yet around Alena, she was extremely talkative… just like any other girl her age.

"Vasili's waiting for you, father," Alena said.

The President spoke up.

"He's expecting an answer from me."

They began to walk through the plane, the agents following.

"Team One, moving."

Alena continued.

"I don't like him."

"No one does. That's why he's good at his job."

"What will you tell him?"

"The truth."

Valentina remained silent during the exchange, just like the rest of the agents.

"He won't want to hear it."

"He has no choice, I'm the president," Vorshevsky affirmed, ending the conversation.

He kissed his daughter on the forehead, telling her, "I'll see you at dinner."

He then went inside the conference room to meet his cabinet, followed by the agents. Andrei gave Valentina a quick peck on the cheek before following and leaving her outside.

"I'm sorry about your brother," Alena said to Valentina.

Her brother died in Washington DC a few months ago. She had no idea how Alena found out. Maybe one of the other FSO guys told her…

The male officer escorted Alena out while Valentina waited, guarding the door.

A sudden chattering sounded from somewhere in the plane, muffled by the walls but still familiar.

"Hijackers are taking the plane! The cockpit's been breached!"

Valentina immediately unholstered her Five Seven handgun. The plane shook and rolled to the right, sending her flying into the wall as automatic fire echoed from the room. A few rounds punched through the door where she would have been standing.

She kicked it open, her gun at the ready. She found most of the cabinet members dead and Pudovkin and Andrei with the President.

"We're taking the President to the safe room!" Pudovkin ordered.

Valentina bent down to pick up an AK-74U (Basically the AKS-74U with a different stock), freezing before grabbing it. It was right on top of the corpse of the sole female member of the cabinet, Anya Kovaleva, who had a messy hole in her forehead. The gun itself had some of someone's gray matter on it, and it wasn't hard to guess whose. Valentina grimaced, picking up the weapon and shaking her head.

"That'll stay in my nightmares for a while," she muttered, following the other agents out.

The plane shook to the left after they cleared a room of terrorists. As they moved in, Valentina found herself slamming to the floor, then to the ceiling, and then floating in midair.

"We've stalled out! We're losing altitude!" the pilot yelled over the radio as more terrorists showed up.

The FSO officers fired at them. Valentina noticed the shell casings ejecting straight to the side instead of falling, and when she got rid of a mag it merely floated away.

Gravity returned, and they all fell to the floor again. Andrei helped his girlfriend up.

"I saw up your skirt, Val," he chuckled, dropping his AK and returning to his pistol.

Valentina blushed before shaking it off and following the commander.

She checked her hair unconsciously and realized something.

"Damn it, my bun's messed up."

They kept pushing through the plane, firing at the hijackers without stopping to make sure they were down. The plane continued to periodically bank, and the female agent learned how not to lose her balance.

They moved to a room full of cargo, where Valentina heard a familiar voice.

"Help me!"

She shot a few rounds into the head of an enemy with an AA-12 shotgun and rushed to make sure Alena was safe.

"All clear! Daughter secure!" Pudovkin announced.

"Father!"

"Alena!"

The two reunited, and the plane shook yet another time.

"Move the president to the saferoom. Harkov, Sokolova, move up!"

The pilot said, "Attempting emergency landing!"

They exchanged fire with more enemies while the aircraft rumbled.

"Brace for impact!"

Valentina instinctively grabbed Andrei's hand.

The tail section ripped off in front of them, violent torrents of air entering the plane. The part of the aircraft which was separated rolled away, taking several people inside of it. It smashed into the control tower. Someone could be heard screaming as he fell out the back and onto the ground. Suddenly, a flaming engine violently flew towards them. And the two could barely feel themselves colliding with something before blacking out.

Andrei's vision finally returned, and he had awoken. He stumbled through the wreckage and found the limp body of his girlfriend on the ground.

"V-Valentina?" he called, bending down.

He felt her cheek… cold. Was it the blizzard? Or was she…

She grunted and opened her eyes slowly.

"All right, you seem fine… I was worried for a second," Andrei admitted.

Pudovkin came behind and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Come on, Agent Harkov. We have to find the President."

They slowly made their way through and out of the fuselage.

Many other agents were outside, clearing the wreckage. The three marched through the snow. Stinging-cold snowflakes combined with the wind peppered their faces, yet the heat from the burning plane was intense. They weren't sure whether they were hot or cold, nor did they care. They would have smelled the heavy smoke if it weren't for their noses running because of the cold.

"All teams, secure your sectors. Evac is on the way. Team Four, report," the commander ordered.

"The President is injured but stable," came the reply.

"Moving to your location now. Secure the area for evac!"

"Sending a flare from out location."

The bright red light appeared from the right, shooting up into the sky as its crimson trail slowly drifted and lost its color to the night.

Valentina pulled out her knife, having lost her Five Seven sometime earlier. Andrei was much better off, he had a PP90M1, but with limited ammo. She detached her vest, as it was damaged in the crash and was rendered useless.

They hopped a log before something exploded to the right, sending Harkov flying into the snow. Valentina helped him up, her eyes shifting around in search for possible enemies.

"I liked the view from down there… your chest actually looked big for once."

She giggled softly before moving on.

They encountered wounded FSO personnel before a blinding light suddenly met their eyes and the distinct sound of rotors beating the air came from above.

"Evac choppers are here. Let's move."

Finally making it to the hangars, a handful of enemy vehicles arrived with dismounting terrorists.

"Fuck, best time to deal with this!" Valentina complained, looking at her knife.

"Stay down, let us handle it," Andrei ordered before returning fire.

She sat behind a large chunk of debris, watching the shell casings impact the snow near her and the light chattering of SMGs.

"Screw this!" she snapped, breaking from cover and running.

A bewildered enemy snapped his attention to her, having been busy firing at the men. Valentina promptly jammed her knife into his neck and yanked it out without looking back, continuing to move.

"Why the hell not!?" Harkov added, running after.

"You guys are IDIOTS!" Pudovkin scolded, following.

They continued their mad dash as the radio continued to crackle with activity.

"All agents, our situation is critical. The President's safety is compromised! Code black, code black!"

They found the last bunch of hijackers and cleared them out.

"Take them down!"

Harkov finished off the last with a boot to the face and the rest of his mag in his forehead.

"Damn, Andrei…" Valentina murmured.

"FSO inbound! Hold your fire! Hold your fire!" Pudovkin yelled.

"Yeah, hold your motherfucking fire!" Harkov added.

A Mi-18 swooped in and landed.

"There's the President. Mister President, we need to get you out of here!"

"Where's my daughter?"

"She's being secured, sir. We need to move you now. Get the President inside! Harkov, open the door!"

With the last of his strength, Andrei pulled open the door, only to find himself staring into a pair of green and blue eyes, then down the barrel of a gun.

_FUUUUCK! _he thought as he heard the shot.

The bullet tore straight through him, the force knocking him to the ground.

Pudovkin was taken down right behind and his pistol dropped near Harkov's arm.

He watched as a terrorist seized the President by the arm, and heard something he'd never heard before.

Valentina screaming.

She leaped over the two, charging straight at the terrorist before Makarov came and grabbed her by the wrist.

He punched her in the face, took the knife, spun her around so that she faced away from himself and right in front of Andrei… then he slit her throat. Her expression went from that of determination, to pain, to pure shock before Makarov released her. She fell down right where Andrei could see her, too.

The commander lifted himself up before the terrorist leader calmly aimed at the back of his head and fired, splattering gray matter on Harkov.

"You know who I am?" he asked, turning to the President.

"Yes."

"Then you know what I want."

"You're insane!"

_Yeah, bitch, you fucking are!_

"Russia will take all of Europe, even if it stands on a pile of ashes. I want the launch codes, Mister President," Makarov asserted.

"You'll never get them!" Vorshevsky forcefully interrupted defiantly.

"Every man has his weakness. Find the girl."

Andrei reached for Pudovkin's pistol, but Makarov promptly executed him.

Valentina's vision was fading, and she knew she barely had any time left. Andrei was down and she was losing blood. She slowly extended her hand to the same pistol, her other hand clutching her throat in an attempt to slow the blood, just long enough…

Her fingers wrapped around the gun, and she squeezed the trigger weakly with it and aimed at Makarov.

He turned around, smiled, and sighed before emptying his gun into her chest.

* * *

"Sir… may I ask again, what the hell are we doing in this goddamn river?"

_Back on the Grid_

_October 5, 2016_

_VDV Spetsnaz_

_Sierra Leone, Africa_

Natalia rolled her eyes upon Peter's complaint while she checked her weapons, her usual AKS-74U suppressed and the PM-9 she picked up. A light rain pelted the team from above, the impacts making tiny rings in the water.

"Well, we're supposed to be keeping the militia busy so the 141 guys can do their job," Koslov replied quietly. "And Vorshevsky's last orders before he disappeared were to do as we were told."

"Something just feels wrong about this," Kaminski commented.

"And what might that be?" Kuznetsov inquired.

"We're a bunch of white people up against a whole lot of black people," Kaminski observed.

"…Kaminski, you can shut the fuck up. Do you see us killing civilians and shit? Don't matter what color your skin is, you can still be an asshole either way."

Koslov quieted them down before adding, "He's got a point. Let's get our asses moving."

Peter grunted and readjusted the PKP he was trying to keep dry.

"By the way… Petrova, we're trying to keep stealth here. Please, try to control yourself. I don't want you getting hurt," said Koslov.

Natalia nodded as they moved through the river.

Nikolai came over the comms.

"Price is moving in, keep the PRF occupied for at least one hour. More will be preferable so I have extraction time."

"Roger that," Koslov responded. "All right, let's get it done with."

They stopped before the outskirts of the village, right in front of a bridge.

"Sir, according to what I know, they're using these to get in and out of the village. Are we going to do anything about it?" Peter asked.

"Good idea, Chernenko. Petrova, reach into my backpack, there should be some C4 in there. Plant it."

Natalia retrieved the explosives and quietly slipped below the bridge to set the charges.

She didn't notice it, but a militiaman had just jumped down on the riverbank nearby and spotted her.

Fortunately, Koslov noticed.

He hopped up, pulled him into the water, and violently shoved him below the surface. He could see the bubbles as the man struggled for air. The Russian squeezed the hostile's neck while simultaneously smashing it onto a sharp rock below, hoping that either drowning, strangling, or trauma would kill him.

Finally, the squirming stopped, the last air bubble rose to the surface, and the red stain of blood spread.

"Damn, sir, that was pretty brutal," Kuznetsov said.

Natalia finished and went back to the team.

"Let's get out of here, into that foliage over there. Take cover."

The Spetsnaz soldiers came out one by one, dashing to the concealment and diving into it.

Koslov noticed that the water made Natalia's clothes cling, displaying an unexpectedly attractive figure. He quickly looked away before thinking anything perverted, focusing on the operation.

Peter, however, noticed this.

"Natalie, you need to get yourself wet more often."

Natalia became flustered for a second before becoming irritated and giving Peter her death glare.

"While you two foreplay, we're going to handle these two guys here," Kaminski interrupted, setting down his shotgun and borrowing Koslov's suppressed AK-74M.

Kuznetsov tossed a rock into the trees beside the dirt road, and the target in the back went to check it out. Two _taps _from his Dragunov and he was down.

Kaminski waited before the other was practically in front of them before hopping out, clubbing him, and finishing him with a burst to the chest.

As Koslov dragged the body back in, he thought about it and realized that Kaminski wasn't the kind to do something like that… was Price training him or something?

"Into the village, let's move!"

They got up and quickly made their way behind the fence. Natalia peered through her Kobra sight and saw a militia soldier lining up civilians to execute.

She gasped and squeezed her eyes shut, coming back into cover. She tried her hardest not to hyperventilate and compromise the mission, but seeing that reminded her of what happened at the airport.

"What's going on?" Koslov asked, checking.

"They got hostages…"

_One terrorist, nine hostages, ten body bags… mission accomplished, _Koslov thought before shaking his head.

In GRU he was trained that a certain hostage rate was acceptable, but said rate was somewhere above 60%. He still had to shake off that mentality.

He flipped his magnifier into place and placed the enemy's torso between the three lines arranged like a T on his sight.

Before he could even put his finger on the trigger, the hostile was already dead. He looked around in confusion. Who did it?

Natalia lowered her carbine.

"You lost out to _her," _Peter teased, moving past.

The civilians ran and hid. One of them tugged on Natalia's shirt as she walked past. She turned to look, and it was a young kid.

He pointed in the direction of where the soldiers were moving, and pantomimed a rifle in his hands. He then held up two fingers and pointed again.

"Huh?" Natalia said before realizing what was happening.

Kaminski, who was on point, suddenly felt rounds hitting the ground near his feet. He fell, rolled into cover, and peeked around the corner.

"Two hostiles approaching!" he yelled over the automatic fire.

The militiamen were sloppily spraying from the hip as they advanced. As soon as one of them walked past, Kaminski fired his shotgun straight into the head, taking him out. Koslov killed the other.

"Shit, they probably heard the shots," Peter muttered.

A dull rumble of an engine came from the direction of the river. Rap music booming over speakers grew nearer along with the vehicle's noise.

"Quick! Get ready!"

Peter went prone, deployed his bipod, and aimed in the direction they were originally going along with Kaminski. Kuznetsov put his scope in the direction of the river. Natalia watched over the civilians, and Koslov took out his clapper.

He waited a few seconds, and blew the C4. The civilians screamed and panicked upon hearing the explosion, and Natalia saw the smoke cloud rising. In the distance she could hear men screaming… wonderful.

"Let's get outta here!" Koslov ordered, heading towards the gate into the village. A swarm of militia suddenly appeared, and he turned around and got to cover. It was almost comical.

"Come get my dick, Шлюха вокзальная!" Peter yelled, shooting straight into the mass of enemies with his LMG. "Train station whore!"

Koslov launched a grenade with his GP-25, taking out about five militia soldiers.

"Uh, I don't think I like this!" Kaminski complained, clutching his shotgun.

"Yeah, we got the attention of the entire fucking village," Kuznetsov added, picking them off with his SVD.

Their numbers dwindled before they retreated. The Spetsnaz followed them into the village, stepping over the bodies.

Natalia chuckled a bit. These guys weren't nearly as well-equipped. Shorts, T-shirts, and sandals were standard issue. They had the same AKs, only except they were beat-up Cold War vintage rifles with rotten wooden furniture.

Suddenly, explosions came from the village, and the trails of mortars above were followed by the expected whistle of the rounds.

"What the hell?" Koslov said, looking up.

The cries of animals joined the chaos. The soldiers turned their attention to them, finding hyenas charging at them.

"Hell no!" Peter snapped before spraying his PKP.

Natalia switched to her PM-9 and emptied the mag.

One of them tackled Kaminski, and before its jaws could close around his leg, he blew it to bits with his Striker.

After dealing with the creatures, they heard something on the radio.

"Poacher 3-1, it's Archangel 1-2," Irina spoke. "There's an unidentified aircraft in the airspace, keep your eyes open for it."

"Fedorova? Haven't you told Nikolai?" Koslov radioed back.

"Roger, but I thought I might as well tell you."

The chopper in question arrived a short time later. Peter put down his gun and found an RPG, aiming it at the helicopter.

"Wait for it… all right, go!"

He launched the projectile, and it missed by a few feet.

"Dammit!"

They watched it fly into the town before shrugging it off and digging in.

On the other end of the village, Yuri cursed his luck as the chopper flew away with a shipping crate.

"Poacher 3-1, they've missed the shipment," Nikolai announced.

"Are you fucking joking?" Peter cursed.

"Shut up, Chernenko," Koslov said.

Natalia removed her hair tie and allowed her mid-length blonde hair to spill onto her shoulders, sighing.

"Well, looks like we've wasted our time," Kaminski grumbled.

"Yeah. Call up Archangel, let's get out of this dump," Kuznetsov agreed.

"All right, all of you, stop bitching. Petrova…"

Natalia nodded and adjusted the mic on her headset.

"Archangel 1-2, this is Poacher 3-1. Requesting evac at the primary LZ."

"Negative, 3-1, it's too hot!"

Koslov took the radio and yelled into it.

"It's Poacher 3-1 Actual, be advised, what the hell!?"

"Sorry about that. Secondary LZ's fine, we can pick you up there."

"…very well. Copy that. 3-1, out."

Without a word, the team started to jog to where the chopper would be headed. Kaminski was on point, quickly checking corners while they weaved through the streets of the village.

An enemy with an RPG came out on the rooftop. Koslov grabbed Natalia and pushed her through the door of a house while the others got to cover. He jumped in after her, hearing the detonation behind him.

When he opened his eyes, he found himself on his hands and knees above Natalia, who was on her back. Her hair was all over the ground, and she stared right into his face with a slight blush.

Koslov got off and brushed the dirt off himself.

"Whoops, sorry about that," he coughed.

"It's all right."

Kuznetsov killed the attacker before the Russians regrouped.

"Everyone all right?"

"I'm up."

"I'm up."

"I'm up."

"I'm fucked up but I'm up."

They moved to the LZ, making sure it was clear this time. The RPG encounter was sloppy, especially because they were supposed to be spec-ops.

Finally, they could board the chopper. A five hour hump through the jungle and river led to a ten-minute sneak into the village, a fifteen-minute hostage situation, a twenty-five minute firefight, and ten-minute dash to the LZ. Needless to say, the Russians were exhausted.

"Turtle fuck!" Peter announced, bumping his helmet onto Kaminski's.

"Good job out there, guys," Koslov congratulated to an audience who half-consisted of sleeping men.

"Can it, Pavel," Volkov chuckled, looking around at the tired people.

"Dmitri, no one asked you!"

The chopper flew through the sky, following Nikolai's.

Natalia tried her best not to fall asleep, but it was a losing battle.

"Petrova? You can't stay awake?" Koslov inquired from next to her, understanding exactly why.

"Yeah."

He sighed.

"Okay. Here, I'll be right here in case anything happens. I'll protect you," the sergeant assured. "Just sleep."

"Thank you…"

Soon enough, she was out cold. Koslov smiled, seeing that he managed to get all of his men out safe. Especially Petrova.

* * *

Jenna sat alone in her barracks dorm, staring at the ceiling. The guys were out somewhere ("Definitely not a strip club," Grinch clarified) and she didn't exactly have anything to do by herself. Pulling pranks or getting into fights like usual wasn't an option considering the scrutiny she was under. Plus, no point to it if Ramirez wasn't around to join her.

She chuckled to herself.

_Ramirez._

He was from the Rangers. And she was part of said Rangers. Easy to forget that kind of thing, to be honest. It was so much simpler, especially because out in the Sandbox there were more important things than dealing with the brass.

"Well, don't have anything better to do," she muttered, starting to reminisce those days.

* * *

"Come on, Moore, hurry your ass up!" Dunn shouted. "Foot patrol. For once we ain't babysitting…"

"Oh, shut up already, Corporal," Foley said. "We get it."

"Hell yeah, some action. If we get a firefight, who knows? I might score a medal or two!" Allen laughed.

"Watch what you say, Allen. Sure, you might get a medal… a Purple Heart. And a free trip home… in a box," Foley scolded.

Ramirez checked his plate carrier and made sure he had mags, but not too many. Last time around, he went out with too much gear and almost passed out. He didn't get to use one of the million mags he brought either.

He jogged up beside Jenna, who was fastening her helmet on. She then let her M4 hang and took out her M9 to inspect it.

"Geez, your hands are small," Ramirez chuckled. "You can't even wrap your fingers around that thing."

"Yeah? Neither can you, James! You can shut the fuck up!" she snapped back.

"Yeah, 'James,'" Allen teased, suddenly deciding to show up.

"Back off, Allen," Ramirez growled. "Don't bother us."

"Geez," Allen said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "So-rry! Just thought I'd back Moore up here. She's obviously on my side."

Jenna scowled.

"How about you shut up before I shove my boot so far up your ass, you'll be coughing sand?"

That shut him up.

They started their hike into the desert.

"It's nothing but dirt out here," Jenna mumbled. "When I was younger, I read Firebase Phoenix was in a green area."

Dunn spat to the side before looking back to say something.

"You're behind the times. That was when we still had Talibs. We pulled out in '14 or so until they told us to go right back in."

"Explains a lot. I was also going to ask why we have this crap UCP instead of the new Multicams."

Dunn raised his eyebrow before Ramirez explained.

"She's a 'tacticool' type, sir. She's asking why we use the old digital uniforms when the newer ones are out. Operation Enduring Freedom Camouflage Pattern. Or Operational Camo Pattern. Damn it, gotta study on that more…"

"Yeah, I wondered that too. I mean, they're getting rid of the digis and officially adopted the Multica-, er, OCP… and we're the Rangers, dammit! We deserve that more!"

Foley sighed and added to the conversation.

"Just another sign of things going south. We're getting weaker to the point we can't match uniforms, while the Russkies build a giant army and the Chinese build stealth fighters. I don't like it one bit."

Silence while the soldiers trudged along the dirt trail. Ramirez held his brand-new SCAR-H up.

_Damn, this thing is sexy, _he thought.

Jenna plucked something from her mouth and stuck it to the back of Dunn's vest. A glob of chewing gum. She immediately took out the pack and popped the next stick in.

"Dear fuck, Moore, how much of that you chew in a day?" Ramirez asked, trying to hold in his laughter after seeing the growing population of gum on Dunn's back.

"Smoking's bad for you, especially chain smoking. Gum's better, I like chain gumming."

Foley interrupted again.

"Sheesh, you two are talkative. When Ramirez first showed up, we couldn't get a word out of him. Too shy. You're getting him to open up, Moore."

A few minutes of silence later, Ramirez started talking again.

"So, you guys like Chinese food?"

"Shut up, you're making me hungry!"

"No, no, just hear me out here. So, ever add _in bed _to the end of a fortune cookie? Like, 'you learn a lot from your mistakes. You will learn a lot today… _in bed."_

Dunn chuckled a bit. It was actually kind of funny.

"Or, the man or woman you desire feels the same about you."

"_In bed,_" Dunn finished.

"Yeah, you know what's up!"

"Oh, I know! I fucked your sister."

"_In bed," _Ramirez said. "WAIT, WHAT THE HELL!?"

Dunn held up a photograph of a girl who had a good amount of similarities to James.

"She's quite the looker, best out here in the 'Stan. Well… second to Moore over here," Dunn replied, winking at Jenna.

She giggled a bit playfully in a purposefully high voice, holding her hand up to her mouth and brushing her hair to the side. That always made the guys swoon.

She stole a peek at the picture of Ramirez's sister.

_Yeah, she's cute, like James. Got a lot of the same features, that's probably it._

In her thoughts, Jenna stopped just short of imagining the squad asking out Ramirez because he looked like his sister.

"Oh, guys, I got another fortune cookie joke!" Allen announced proudly.

"What?" Dunn responded excitedly.

"I got laid with Moore… _in b-_"

Ramirez lost it and shoved him to the ground.

"You can shut the fuck up about that, pal," he grumbled, leaning in menacingly. Well, at least, for a Ramirez. "You know that makes her uncomfortable."

"RAMIREZ! Stand down!" Dunn ordered, bumping him aside and grabbing Allen by the shirt. "Dick move, brother. I don't wanna hear you mention that at all or I'll make sure Foley has your ass."

"Boys, come on, stop dicking around, we gotta move!" Foley boomed, not turning around. Of course, he knew what was going on, but for the medic's sake, he decided not to intervene.

When the patrol continued, Jenna kept on stealing looks at Ramirez.

_Geez, I wonder what she thinks of me now… why the hell did I do that? _he asked himself.

The medic was pretty sure she was having different thoughts, but in reality, they weren't too different.

_Wow, can't believe he did that. Standing up for a loser slut like me… I wonder how he feels about me. _

Six hours of humping through the desert, and nothing at all from it.

Jenna dragged herself into her tent, lazily dropping her gear everywhere, peeling off her uniform, and starting to change.

James decided to work up his courage and visit her, but he entered the tent and found her changing.

"W-what are you doing? G-get out of here!"

"S-sorry!" he stammered, covering his eyes. Half of him wanted to watch, but Mama didn't raise him like that.

Jenna was about to tell him to wait, but she could already hear his boots on the gravel as he walked away. She was a bit disappointed, too. He didn't like to see that kind of thing? Then again, she did yell. He probably feared for his life.

"Whatever," she told herself, collapsing onto her cot.

Before she fell asleep, she heard Dunn screaming somewhere outside about the gum on his armor.

* * *

Back to reality again. She wasn't too much of a different person from then, although she thought that she at least changed a little. War does things like that, after all.

The guys' voices were back, and it was obvious they returned from their fun.

Jenna sighed and started towards the door, preparing herself for Grinch telling some nasty story about some stripper. Or maybe McCoy awkwardly trying to hit on her... _again. _At the same time, she was looking forward to talking to Frost, at least. But she was worried that he enjoyed the girls at the strip club, and that he'd see her as inadequate for his tastes.

When she joined Delta, she joined a whole new world, one that was a bit too complicated for herself to even understand.

* * *

**Ooh, I got this one out early. **

**Well, I feel bad for the lack of updates, plus, I need new readers to replace the ones I seem to have lost.**

**Also, Flipnote Studio 3D (a 3DS app I've waited for since 2013 or so) is finally being released next month. Thing is, I was getting popular on the DSi version's internet service (Hatena), but it all shut down before I could do anything. I kind of miss animating suckishly-drawn cartoon characters on a handheld game console…**

**The fortune cookie thing is a reference to Battlefield 4, if you didn't catch that. Thanks, DICE, I always do that now… **_**in bed.**_

**Also, the "I'm up" and then "fucked up but I'm up" thing is from BF3. I'm just about as much Battlefield fan than CoD fan, although my BF4 fic is there as a trollfic, so DON'T EVEN TOUCH THAT THING**

**OH, WAIT! I made Tumblr ask blog for this fic! Ask Jenna, Natalia, and everyone else any questions you have at askhookandnatalia . tumblr . com (remove spaces)**

**Well, Ramirez fans out there, hope you enjoyed that touch of everyone's favorite mixed-race hero. (I like to think that he's half Latino and half white, you guys can think your own thing. Seriously, where are all the mixed-race people in fanfics, amirite?)**

**Yeah, I introduced a new handful of characters only to kill them off. Deal with it. Valentina is dead and there's nothing you can do about it. **

**I did that entire thing mainly because the FSO guys are underrated, and in good 'ol D353RT5TORM style, I made yet another damn female heroine to join them. I promise, no more of that.**

**By the way, where are all the Natalia fans out there? You guys are kind of quiet… sorta like her, huh. I don't feel like anyone appreciates her enough. You'll get more of her in the future anyway.**

**Looks like Kaminski's learning how not to be an idiot anymore.**

**And it also seems Koslov might actually care about Natalia! More at 8.**

**Hope you enjoyed more douchey Allen. **

**Well, I'm off, hope you enjoyed!**

**Rate and review, all that jazz!**

**-D353RT5TORM**


	21. Twelfth Night

**Hey suckers, back again with a new chapter! And some followers! And a few reviews! Whoop-de-doo.**

**Gonna make shout-outs to coffeelover22 and Militarygeek13 for awesome reviews. They were very helpful, actually.**

**And dear guest who thinks that the way the FSB agents died was brutal, you should see my best friend Zoerren's stuff. It's the lovechild of Happy Tree Friends and Battlefield, I swear.**

**Quick info: EUCOM is US European Command, CENTCOM is Central Command (which Overlord belongs to), and SOCOM is Special Operations Command.**

* * *

_October 6, 2016_

"Well… none of us saw that one coming at all," the EUCOM commander admitted. "We did get a bit of heads-ups from the European counterterrorism people, but we expected them to handle the problem."

He could see and hear his superior slamming the table in rage on the other end of the video call, all without being there. Oh, the convenience of technology.

"Yeah? Well, now we have plenty of our own dead, not to mention those from our allies. And let's just ignore the thousands of civvies, too. I'm relieving you from responsibility. I'm turning this one over to CENTCOM."

"Thank you, sir," the CENTCOM commander replied.

The call was terminated soon, and he turned to discuss the matter with his staff.

"So, the Russkies made their move. A blitzkrieg across Europe so fast Hitler would piss himself. Of course, this time they had chemical weapons. And I thought this entire time that the Russians would want peace with us," he said. "Seems like the Vice President thought so, too. Now he's captured. Not only do we have to invade Europe for the third time, we gotta bail his ass out. The first part is easy, we just deploy the Marines. The second one…"

They all murmured in agreement, intently listening.

"Someone, ring up SOCOM. I don't wanna deal with this."

Then, the SOCOM commander talked to his own people, and decided that the course of action would be to throw the Rangers in with the Marines invading, and have Delta Force handle the VP's rescue.

"Metal 0-1, this is Overlord Actual, you are being rerouted for Hamburg. We've got a principal level hostage rescue."

"Who is it?" Sandman replied.

"The vice president."

"Got it. Should be a breeze for my team," Sandman declared.

He turned to address Team Metal on the matter.

"Sounds like fun," Grinch said upon hearing the situation. "Always wanted to do this kind of thing as a kid. Well, I'd prefer the President, but this is close enough."

"No sweat at all," Frost added.

"Well, good to see that you all are looking forward to this. Kit up, plane's leaving in thirty mikes. No stop in Britain, it's too messy there."

Jenna took notice at that, having been in the dark on the attacks.

"What happened there?" she inquired while everyone started equipping themselves. "I know about gas attacks. Not much, though."

Frost decided he'd brief her on that one.

"Well, sometime after the civil war, the Russians got a hold of some Cold War era chemical compound and perfected it. They finally put it in action, Brits and French got some of it, for example. Dunno what kinda gas it is, Nova Seven or some crap …"

They shrugged it off and focused on getting themselves ready.

McCoy was also present there and decided it was a good time to try and hit on Jenna.

"Hey, Hook," he began.

Jenna closed her eyes for a moment. He'd been at it for a while now. Was this guy desperate or what?

"We're both medics, right? I think when this is through, we should play doctor… eh?"

_Damn, that was pathetic._

She decided that she'd toy with the guy a bit, because why not? Plus, maybe Frost would get jealous or something.

Jenna giggled and did her usual routine she had with the Rangers. She never did it for these guys before.

She slowly smirked, brushed her hair aside deftly, and looked at the ground, clasping her hands behind her back.

"Ooh, that's kinda naughty, wouldn't you think?" she teased playfully, twisting her leg back and forth, her toe rubbing into the ground. She bit her lip and winked while she was at it.

Jenna peeked up from behind her bangs to take a look at the rest of the guys.

McCoy's swallowed and his eyes shot away instantly. He definitely seemed turned on, that was for sure.

Truck raised his eyebrow and looked her up and down before he turned back to inspecting his ammo belts as if nothing ever happened.

Grinch definitely seemed interested, his breaths short of aroused panting, but surprisingly he was trying to politely distract himself.

_Damn, this version of Hook is hot! _Frost panicked. _That was really fucking exciting… since when does she act like that!?_

He definitely felt uncomfortable. His pounding heartbeat was echoing back into his body off his plate carrier, and a burning hot sensation was creeping up his face.

"Guys, I'd rather not have anyone fucking before this op, can you hurry the hell up?" Sandman snapped, breaking the mood. Sandman himself didn't seem like he even noticed Jenna, like usual.

All of the men returned to rapidly performing what they were just doing before.

Jenna smiled evilly in satisfaction, having melted their hearts on her first try.

They headed to the airfield, and a familiar general intercepted the group on their way. Jenna cringed when she realized he was headed for her.

"What do you have your panties in a bunch this time, Chandler?"

A common exchange. The two were always at odds. Bradford didn't even bother to correct the Private on her use of his first name anymore.

"Against my better judgment, I'm letting you go with them. But you're not going to participate in the mission… _cunt_."

It took a lot for her not to kill him on the spot. He'd taken to calling her that, quietly tacking it onto the ends of sentences, loud enough for her and no one else to hear.

Jenna decided to play the cute card again. This time, she sniffled and looked at the ground, trembling just a bit.

"Wh-why would… you d-do tha-"

"Doesn't work on me," the general interrupted mid-sentence.

And like that, her masquerade melted away, displaying her normal side again.

"Actually, it's gonna be McCoy going instead of you. It's his first mission, and I'm quite proud of him. You're not going, I've determined that you have a higher chance of compromising the mission."

"Some double standards… if this is his first mission, he's more likely to compromise th-"

"No, no," Bradford cut her off again, the trademark low voice he had when he would insult her returning. "You'll compromise it. Because you are, in fact, a _woman_. And women fuck everything up when it comes to a man's job. No, you're no lady. You're a fucking tramp."

_Wait… was that a reference to The Lady and the Tramp? _Jenna pondered among her angry thoughts.

Before Jenna could come up with a rebuttal, he turned and left, instantly dropping that demeanor. He waved jauntily to the men with a smirk and departed.

"He giving you shit again?" Frost asked sympathetically when Jenna strapped into the seat next to him.

He was the only guy who genuinely believed how she said the general treated her, and Jenna appreciated that more than he'd think.

"Yeah… he's not letting me go on the op."

"Think of it as a good thing. This mission is gonna be really high-risk. Don't wanna have to see you get hurt or anything out there."

Jenna nodded while the C-130's ramp slowly closed.

She clenched her fist.

_Like hell I'm not going._

* * *

The Blackhawk approached the LZ at full speed, the hovercrafts below speeding along the grey water.

The Delta Force men quietly watched while the chopper to their right took a hit and plunged into the water.

"This is 3-2, we're hit, we're hit!"

"Helix 3-2 is hit, he's going down!"

… _down, in an earlier round, _Frost finished the sentence mentally.

He did it in the absence of Hook, who usually would have actually said it over the net.

He glanced back at McCoy, who winced upon seeing the chopper go down. Promising newbie, although he might have been a bit of a slacker, cocky, and would not stop bothering the other medic.

About four V-22 Ospreys flew in from their 3 o'clock, and one approached dangerously close to the water. Its right engine exploded and it tumbled into the ocean. Just then, the helicopter conveniently banked so that the men inside could view the wreckage. It was quite demoralizing.

Frost calmly pulled out his M4A1 grenadier variant and checked it one last time. The Blackhawk touched down briefly on the shore while the LCACs crashed onto the beach and released their loads. M1A2 Abrams tanks sped down the ramps and Team Metal hopped off their ride to move.

"Let's get this over with, guys," he muttered, kicking sand while he sprinted up the beach, surrounded by Rangers.

"Rangers lead the fuckin' way!" one of the Rangers yelled, jumping off his chopper and charging.

"HOOAH!" his buddies cheered.

Frost chuckled upon hearing their rowdy shouting. They seemed like they were filled with much more morale than the professionalism of Delta Force.

"Hooah," he muttered under his breath, the word even more obscured by his balaclava. He smirked, remembering that he was, after all, a soldier.

_Goalpost_

_October 6, 2016_

_Sgt. Derek "Frost" Westbrook_

_1__st__ SFOD-Delta_

_Hamburg, Germany_

"Move with the tanks! Keep going!" Sandman ordered.

A bunch of sand flew into the air, and Frost felt gravity's sweet embrace as he kissed the ground.

"Mortars!" a Ranger announced.

"No shit…" Frost grunted.

"Aw, man, were gettin' pinned by mortars!" another Ranger complained with a slight Southern accent. "Come on bro, I gotcha."

The Ranger offered his hand to Frost, and the Delta operator accepted it. His eyes checked the soldier's name tag, labeled "Dunn."

"Thanks for the assist," Frost mumbled.

"Take cover behind the rocks!" a lower voice, presumably an African-American, advised.

Frost threw his back against a boulder, reloading rapidly and watching while McCoy slipped and knocked his helmet against the rock, before scrambling behind it.

He punched him in the shoulder. He didn't notice until now, but he had a small frame for a guy.

"Pfft, that was a Hook moment right there," he joked.

"Outta the way, badass coming through!" a Ranger boomed, deploying the bipod on his M240B and setting it onto the rock. "Yeah, bitch, it's over here!"

"Make her sing!"

Sandman ran up, tapped his shoulders, and said something before mantling the boulder and continuing.

"Get off the beach, now!" the gunner yelled.

Frost broke from cover and sprinted forwards. The ranks of the Rangers around them were thinning out. He looked back and saw some of them going down, their buddies dragging them to cover with streaks of red painting the beach. One poor sap had his entire lower half blown off, and he sputtered gibberish while his friend desperately pulled him back.

"Don't slow down!"

_Ah… chaotic. I don't like it that way, _Frost thought.

"Hey, just get to the wall! That's where the rally point is!"

"Deploying smoke."

One of the tanks launched their smoke, and a cloud soon concealed their advance.

"We're going to need you boys to sweep the forward area… make sure we're good to move up."

"Copy, we'll clear you a path!" Sandman responded.

"Thermals make this so easy," Dunn said, picking off enemies through the scope on his SCAR-H. "I can see them Russkies. Unlike DC. Fuck!"

"This would have been so much easier with Ramirez," his sergeant grumbled while the Delta men pressed into the smoke.

"Can't believe we lost him out to 2-2. Foley? You miss ordering him around?"

"Shut up, Corporal. Come on, we both know the boy kicks ass! You on the other hand, lost your stripes. Soon enough he'll outrank you!"

"Incoming!"

Their conversation was interrupted when Rhino 3, one of the tanks, exploded.

"Fuckin' assholes!" a Ranger snapped.

He came in with a SMAW and quickly launched it into the smoke.

"Hey, watch it, head ass!" one of the tankers radioed. "That almost hit us."

Frost took out an SMAW of his own.

"I got it."

He fired his, missing a tank… but instead hitting a cluster of Russians and scattering their body parts everywhere.

"Got two more T-90s, left side."

"Roger that. We're gonna get some rounds in that direction."

"Copy that, Rhino One. We're right behind you."

Frost heard someone inside the tank yell "yeah, and you got a nice ass!" followed by a bunch of snickering.

The tanks and soldiers advanced into the city, fought their way up the street, took a left, and encountered a barricade.

Sandman knocked on one of the tanks.

"What's the hold up?"

Someone replied from his position atop the turret on his minigun.

"The only way through is in to that parking garage and out the other side! We're going to have to take it slow. Not sure if it can handle the wei-"

_Crack._

His head was bisected, held together by the remnant of his tanker helmet. His limp corpse dropped onto the turret, spilling blood all over it.

"Sniper!" Sandman screamed, scanning for them.

"Carter's hit! He's hit!" the gunner declared from within the tank.

"Where are the targets?"

"Top floor of the building in front of you! Hit it now!" Sandman urged.

"Gun ready!"

"Got it, this one's going up their asses!"

The 120mm main gun fired a shell, which slammed into the building.

"Frost, get on that minigun!" Sandman said.

_Always gotta do everything, huh?_

He looked around for a second, sensing something wrong.

"Where's McCoy?"

He looked back and saw the medic tending to injured Rangers frantically. What?

"McCoy, the hell you're doing? Leave them back, let their medics handle it, get your ass moving! Dumb sh-"

He cut himself off. Why did he say that? It wasn't Hook back there.

"Up you go, Frost! Get up on that minigun!"

Frost grabbed the railing on the side of the turret and pulled himself up. He saw the corpse of Carter crumpled on the floor inside the tank. His crewmates were obviously trying to avoid looking at it.

"Coming through, sorry."

He lowered himself through the hatch and took control of the M134, spooling its barrels up.

But before he could kill anything, a chopper appeared over the building in front of them.

"Hind! Hind!"

"Back it up, now!"

The driver threw the tank into reverse. It lurched backwards.

"Trophy system, online!"

"Get down!"

Frost got down into the tank before a shell hit them, his vision blurring and his ears ringing from shell shock. Through the cloud he recognized a loader struggling to throw a round into the breech, and the driver panicking behind the controls. And… a dinosaur toy on the floor? T-Rex.

"Everyone OK? Talk to me, 2-2! I love you!"

"Real funny. We're good, man."

"Alright, let's roll!"

"This ain't my idea of a vacation to Germany," Dunn said, ducking behind a brick wall alongside Foley.

Foley ignored him.

Dunn flicked his fire selector to semi-auto and started to send rounds downrange to hit a few tangos in cover.

"What is this, Afghanistan?" Foley scolded. "Go back to rock n' roll! We need more firepower!"

"Did someone say firepower?"

"No, Clarke, n-"

The gunner grinned heartily before drowning out his comrades' pleas with his machine gun. 7.62 bullets cut through the air and smashed into anything which dare got in their way.

That bought time by suppressing the anti-tank soldiers, and the tanks continued forwards while the Russian forces retreated.

"They're going into the garage… haha, sissies."

"Yeah, they're scared shitless."

Two Apaches hovered above their heads. One of them fired rockets into said garage, the explosions barely drowning out the screams of the Ultranationalists.

"RUN!" a Russian trooper panicked before a shockwave slammed her against the wall along with multiple limbs tangled with uniforms and gear. The last thing she felt was probably an AK hitting her in the face.

One of her comrades was knocked down, and he struggled to get up, weighed down by his armor. He screamed, pawing at the clips before one of the tanks drove right over his body and turned him into a Russian pancake, served with Red syrup and Pinko bacon! Commie Crunch, part of a complete breakfast.

"Alright, let's get this show on the road!"

The M1s arrived at a tunnel wide enough for only one of them to go through.

"After you, 2-1."

Rhino One drove in, followed by Frost and Two. The behemoths crawled up the ramps.

"Whoa, whoa! Wait!"

"Back it up, back it up!"

_That's not good. _Frost thought.

The floor cracked, then crumbled, and the tanks dropped through.

"Oh, shit!"

Poor Frost held on for dear life. He peeked out of the hatch and looked upwards to see a red Nissan falling right towards him. He could read the license plate – 35298.

"Three times it drops," he yelped before ducking into the turret.

The car slammed onto the tank from above like an Acme safe.

* * *

Natalia mindlessly reached into her pocket to take out her pack of cigarettes. She walked in rushed strides, hurrying for no reason apparent to herself.

The team now found themselves in the deserts of Somalia. The 141 was using them to pull recon, now hot on the trail of some African warlord.

Kuznetsov felt and heard Natalia go prone next to himself while he looked through his binoculars, his trusty Dragunov at his side.

"Petrova, I think I got something," he quietly reported, patting his forehead with a sweat-drenched cloth.

"Shoot," Natalia replied, setting aside her carbine and lighting her cigarette. "What do you have?"

"Well, he has to be moving to a compound at this port here," Kuznetsov said, pointing at a spot on a map unfolded between Natalia and himself. "The militia presence there is slowly decreasing. It's increasing at what we already know is an insignificant place, just to throw us off. It's obvious the lesser-defended location would make a better place to stay."

Koslov approached from behind, adjusting his shemagh and holding a canteen. He tossed it down to the two, kneeling down.

"Drink up."

Kuznetsov took an eager swig, then chuckled.

"What's the weird scarf thing?"

"This? Ah. This is apparently something they use in the Middle East to protect your neck or head. Americans have been doing it for a while, Nikolai gave a few to me he got in the Afghan war," Koslov explained. "Speaking of the Americans… they also had a bad time with this damn country."

Kuznetsov seemed puzzled, but Natalia, having known more about American culture and history, already understood.

"Black Hawk Down?"

"Da. Same thing, they were hunting for a warlord. The Rangers and notorious Delta Force were there, and a helicopter went down. It turned into a bloodbath for both sides after that. Things haven't changed much since then."

The radio suddenly let out static before someone on the other end spoke.

"Uh, this – minski, we have – storm hitting us, Cherno – warning you."

Koslov pushed the button on his own radio to respond.

"What was that? Repeat your last, over."

"Sandstorm. Chernov and – relocating."

Natalia glanced up with concern.

"What's wrong?"

"Goddamned sandstorms, that's all."

Koslov got up and jogged off to meet Kaminski and Peter, leaving Natalia and Kuznetsov alone. After some silence, Kuznetsov decided to initiate small-talk.

"Corporal, permission to ask something that might be personal?" he requested, setting down his binocs and looking at her.

"All right."

He paused for a second to think about what he was going to say. Natalia was actually glad she could get him to talk. Ever since she fought with him in DC, he never spoke much.

"Have you ever been in a relationship?"

Natalia shook her head no.

"Can't say I've ever had anything of the sort."

Kuznetsov was slightly surprised at this statement.

"Really? Is that so?" he said. "Well, that's hard to believe."

"And why is that?"

He sighed.

"Don't take this the wrong way, ma'am. But I think you're quite pretty. Beautiful, I might say."

"Huh?"

"N-n-now, I already know you're getting the wrong idea. I have a wife back home," Kuznetsov clarified. "So I'm not hitting on you. But you've… never had a boyfriend? Or girlfriend?"

"Never. I've never actually had any interest in anyone," Natalia admitted. "You have a wife?"

"Indeed. Actually, she's expecting."

He chuckled for a second.

"You know, Petrova? I really admire you. You've been through so fucking much, yet you've been with us the entire way and are still fighting. That's not just something anyone can do. I'm actually thinking of naming the kid Natalia, if it is a girl."

"Don't do that," the namesake giggled.

"Yeah," Kuznetsov continued. "When she asks how she got her name, I'll tell her the story of Daddy's friend. How she fought in the war. How she'd seen things she didn't like, but kept fighting when it was the right thing to do."

Natalia looked down at her hands. A hands of a fucked-up butcher. Thoughts of what the soldier would be hiding from his daughter carved themselves into her mind, a mental knife into the young, formerly pure flesh of her brain.

_How many men she had slaughtered. The brutal things she had done to innocent people on the American side. How she fought in an army whose goal it was to avenge the deaths of innocent people by killing more civilians._

_You'll name her after a murderer, Sergei._

* * *

"C'mon, man. Let's get out of there. Systems are dead… that shit was crazy, man."

Frost tossed his M4A1 outside, then jumped out of the turret. Only now he regretted wearing UCP digital camo pants with his Multicam-colored shirt. It didn't match very well at all.

_My head feels like the first time I met Pops' bat, _Frost thought, rubbing his head beneath his Ops-Core FAST helmet.

"You guys okay?" Sandman asked concernedly.

"Yeah. We're good."

"Can you shoot?"

"Yeah, I can hold my own."

"Alright, basics, fellas. Find cover, return fire. Let us know if you need any help. Now we move fast, so keep your heads up. Let's go."

Frost tried to blink it off and push on with the mission, and he followed the others through the garage. Only a few seconds later did even more pissed-off Russians show up, and the Americans returned fire. While they handled the enemies, Frost got behind a wall and slid down, moaning and holding his head. The pain was unbearable at this point.

He didn't realize he was very vulnerable like that, and a Russian turned the corner and poked Frost's face with his muzzle.

"Ow, asshole!" Frost grunted, the impact of the gun sending ripples through his skull and making his headache worse.

The Russian growled and prepared to fire, but the Delta operator quickly punched the weapon out of the way before he could take a round to the face. It did, however, fire next to his head, the pain rocketing through Frost's temples.

"AGH!" he yelped, losing balance and slamming against the wall.

The hostile soldier prepared to finish him off, and he braced for his death. At least his headache would end, right?

Someone came out of nowhere and tackled the enemy to the ground, sending a rapid flurry of fists to his face. Frost glimpsed the carbon fiber knuckles of an Oakley Assault glove.

That fighting style… it couldn't be.

The Russian rolled to the side and used his leg to trip the American, who fell and crashed onto the cement. A familiar girlish yelp confirmed Frost's suspicions. The person barely avoided a kick to the side and got up, placing their hands into a fighting stance.

"Hook, MOVE!" he screamed, getting up, unholstering his pistol, and shoving the medic out of the way. He then popped a round straight between the Russian's eyes. Said eyes rolled backwards, and he fell onto his back.

"Heh, no sweat," Frost muttered before collapsing.

"FROST!" Jenna's voice cried.

"Man, I knew McCoy wasn't that much of a kickass fighter," Frost croaked.

Jenna bent down to pull off his helmet, goggles, and balaclava, and her face immediately paled beneath her own mask.

Frost's head was bleeding from somewhere, and the balaclava soaked some of it up. Sticky crimson smeared his brow and streaked his white blond hair.

Jenna choked back a sob.

"Are… are you all right, sir?" she asked, dropping her pack on the ground and taking the contents she needed.

"Come on, you don't have to worry so much."

Her hands trembled while she wiped the blood off and inspected his head for the wound.

"Frost, let's move!" Sandman yelled, looking back, then seeing what happened.

"Shit," he cursed beneath his breath. "McCoy, you better hurry the hell up!"

Jenna swallowed, trying to force down a dry lump forming in her throat.

She found a pleasant-looking laceration and did her best to treat it.

"Take this," she commanded, giving Frost some pain medication. "You good to fight?"

"Dumb… shit," he replied weakly, stuffing the balaclava into his dump pouch, strapping his goggles back on, and fastening his helmet.

_I'm doing this for you, dumb shit, _he told her in his mind, knowing that she wouldn't be able to hear him.

"Up on your feet, soldier," Sandman said, helping him up and nodding at Jenna. "Good job, McCoy."

"Metal 0-1, ISR has spotted the convoy half a click from your position. Get there fast and secure a perimeter around that site," Overlord advised.

Frost tightly gripped his M4 and took the first few steps. It took all his might not to give up, but Hook didn't help him out just so he could quit the op then.

Just then, it hit him.

_The mission would have been compromised without her._

"Tank!" one of the crewmembers announced, snapping Frost back into reality.

He took out his SMAW but felt too tired to even hold it up. He rested it on a concrete barrier to stabilize it, and fired it at the hostile T-90.

He got back into cover to reload it. Looking to his right, he saw Jenna surprisingly popping out and firing her SCAR-L at tangos. Not just to suppress them, like usual. _She was actually taking them out._

_Heh, good job, Hook._

Frost was definitely proud. That douchebag Bradford was completely wrong. Frost himself had doubts, but the medic was proving herself to be an asset.

"Rhino One, where the hell are you!?"

As if on cue, the Abrams tank smashed through the wall in front of them, getting off a shot before its counterpart could. The enemy tank exploded, and the burning crew screamed in agony from within.

"Threat neutralized, we're moving up."

Frost fought through the bombed-out establishments. Sure, the medication helped, but he still felt dizzy as hell while the angry Russians lit him up. His movements were sluggish and unprofessional.

Missiles flew towards Rhino One, their trails originating from the rooftops across the street, sending the crew to their own fiery doom.

"Incoming!"

"Get inside! Go, go!"

The handful of soldiers dashed into the building Frost was in.

"Jester 5-5, engaging targets on the capitol building," a voice on the comms announced calmly.

An F-15 swooped in, strafing the enemies on the roof to pieces before pulling up and out of the scene.

"So… many… explosions," Frost groaned.

He tried to break a window with his stock, but he was too weak for it, and the window merely cracked.

Jenna flew in behind with a giggle and punched straight through it for him.

"Thanks," he coughed in embarrassment, climbing through it. He immediately crouched and returned fire to the soldiers swarming the street before nodding to her that it was clear.

"Metal 0-1, have you reached the convoy?"

"Affirmative, Overlord, but we can't get to it yet – watch the left side!"

Frost was still in a daze and couldn't react fast enough. Jenna got between him and the Russians and fired her SCAR-L. He managed to pull himself together, but not until she took a round to the torso and went down.

"HOOK!"

He clenched his teeth and sighted them with his ACOG. His thumb automatically clicked the fire selector to semi-auto.

And in less than ten seconds, he killed the remainder of the enemies, double-tapping some and getting headshots on others. All using eighteen rounds. You can do the math.

"We're clear!"

He knelt down over Jenna.

"Shit, Hook, are you with me?" he asked.

Her eyes slowly opened, she pulled down her balaclava, grinned, and flashed a peace sign.

"My ribs feel like battered dick, but I'm all right," she coughed, throwing off her headgear. "I can't handle it anymore, sir."

"It's all right," Frost assured, pulling her close to comfort her.

He wasn't sure why at all. But he was proud of her, and he couldn't vocalize it. So he just decided to do that instead while he gained the courage to say it.

"You did well. You did well."

Frost realized that she'd latched onto his body and was hugging him. He pulled her off before patting her on the back and nodding his head towards the convoy.

"Check the vehicles," Sandman ordered. "… Hook!? What the _fuck!?"_

"She was here the entire time, sir."

Sandman placed his hands on his hips for a second. And to think McCoy, the new guy, was more competent. So turns out McCoy was _Hook._

"Nothin' here!" a tank crewman reported.

Jenna peeked inside one of the vehicles, its horn blaring. A Secret Service agent had a giant hole in his skull, exposing a damaged brain. His head pressed against the steering wheel, causing the continuous beep.

"They're not here. Overlord, negative precious cargo. I say again – they're not at the convoy."

She closed his eyes and eased him off the wheel and back into the seat, following the others while they moved along.

"Copy. Check the area for any sign of the delegates, but be advised - Raptor 4 will be on station for exfil in ten minutes, over."

"Copy your last."

A path of red was drawn from the vehicles into the doors of a building, indicating where Goalpost might have been.

"Hey, there's a lot of blood over here! It's going up those stairs."

"Easy."

Frost nodded to Jenna, and she could have sworn he saw the corners of his lips pulling into a slight smile.

"No sweat."

Shadows slipped by at the top, sliding across the red-illuminated walls.

"Contact!"

"Stay back, sir," Jenna whispered, proceeding ahead of him with her SCAR ready.

_Go kick some ass, Hook, _Frost cheered.

They sprinted up the stairs, hot on the tails of the tangos. Jenna spotted the mocking face of a Russian as he shut the door at the top of the stairs in front of them.

She raised a middle finger to the door, the other men sliding into position.

"Huh?" she blurted.

Frost slammed a breaching charge onto the door, and it exploded open. He recoiled from the shock, shaking his head.

_Looks like it's up to me,_ Jenna thought, stepping into the "fatal funnel" of the doorway,

She killed about four tangos, including one about to execute the Vice President.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed the back of the plate carrier she borrowed from McCoy, and she fell back onto someone's lap as a Russian swung an AK at where she would have been.

She looked back and a blush shot through her face. She was on Frost's lap.

He raised his pistol from behind her, and she glanced to the gun to her right as it fired and killed the Russian.

"Get off of me, please."

She immediately rolled off awkwardly, rubbing the back of her head.

There was no time for awkwardness, there was a VP in need of saving!

Sandman pushed by and walked up to the blindfolded man in a suit.

"Look at me, look at me," he said, turning back. "It's him."

Jenna helped him up and inspected him for serious injuries, and Frost supervised as Sandman radioed back to Overlord.

"Overlord, P.I.D. on the Vice President. We're ready for extraction."

"Solid Copy, 0-1. Great work. Raptor 4 is arriving on scene now."

Jenna escorted Goalpost up the stairs, following the remnants of the team.

A V-22 was moving in for extraction, and she waved up to it alongside Sandman.

Frost watched them from behind, still woozy.

"Truck, Grinch – we got our guy. We're on our way to LZ Neptune. Meet us there."

"Nice. I guess the first round's on us."

He yelled out over his radio, unable to stop himself from making a response.

"No, don't let Hook drink! Remember last time!?"

But even though he was making fun of her, he was still extremely proud of her, like a father to his daughter in a way.

"No sweat… Jenna," he chuckled under his breath.

* * *

**Ouch. Sorry this was late af, but as you can tell, it's longer than an average chap. 5500+ words, to be exact.**

**I'm sorry. Life has been really suckish for me. Thing after thing has happened. A school project has kicked off a major depressive episode (about a few weeks to a month of clinical depression, basically), not to mention a bully who kicked off the last one I had has shoehorned his sorry ass back into my life, messing with my friends. Life sucks that way.**

**But, here you go, have this!**

**Did you catch the Black Ops reference? Nova Seven, a modern version of Nova Six. Less messy and more effective, or your money back!**

**We got to see a bit more into Kuznetsov, because he's barely been developed a la Mori from Ouran High School Host Club. Well, now you know more about the guy. Got dem feels yet?**

**We also met the Rangers again, back in action and being kickass like usual. I wonder where Ramirez is?**

**YES THE TANK DINO WAS ANOTHER BF3 REFERENCE. DEAL WITH IT, MILLER!**

**Speaking of Ouran and girls pretending to be dudes, Jenna did a pretty good job of pretending to be the real McCoy (THERE'S THAT PUN AGAIN) to the very end.**

**Like usual, if you have questions for any of the characters (or me), I have a Tumblr ask blog for this fic at askhookandnatalia . Tumblr . com. (Remove spaces.)**

**Also, swing by my profile. There's a poll for you to vote for the ships ****_you _****wanna see. DO IT, YOU COMMIE!**

**Yeah, the chap was named Twelfth Night because of how Jenna disguises herself. We performed that play in 8th grade, I played Malvolio in a very funny eccentric manner.**

**(Oh Zoerren… OOOOOHHHH, MALVOLIOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO)**

**Well, hope you guys enjoyed. I might update this A/N soon. But this is D353RT5TORM, out.**


	22. Desert Storm

**Well, my motiv is off the charts now. I don't even know why. **

**So, thanks again to Militarygeek13, coffeelover22, and anonymous skrub (really) for helpful reviews. I appreciate good reviews, ones that can help me improve. So don't be afraid to tell me what you want to see.**

**I named it this on purpose. I know it's my Fanfiction name. Deal with it. I was gonna do "Sandstorm," but the Darude references would be too much for me.**

***Mock horror* Oh no, where did Ramirez go?**

**ANd wHO THE HELL VOTED FOR JENNA X NATALIA AS A SHIP!?**

* * *

Newly-promoted _Corporal _James Ramirez stared out the window from his seat in the Humvee, the scenery of the temporary Forward Operating Base not interesting him much.

He was riding next to the newly-_demoted _Corporal Dunn, his former squadmate.

"Still pissed they whored you out to 2-2," he grumbled, about to drive through an intersection when another vehicle flew by in front of them. "These goddamn POGs need to learn to drive! FUCK!"

James attempted to contain his laughter at Dunn's road rage, which he was notorious for. Dunn's Fun Rule #2, never ride with the man if he's driving. Or was that Rule #74½?

"Anyway… I was starting to miss your sis, pal. Foley took away my photo of her, and my dick was sad for weeks. Could you get your ass demoted so you can come back to 2-1?"

James rolled his eyes. He was transferred out specifically due to his promotion.

"Nope."

"Aw, pretty please?"

"Shut up, Dunn. I swear, this is why you lost your stripes."

Silence.

"So, you said you wanted to visit Moore, correct?"

"That's right."

"Then gimme a sec."

Dunn scanned for an MP, and spotted a solitary one waiting around for something.

He pulled over, and rolled down the window.

"Excuse me, could you point us to the Delta compound?" he inquired.

The MP turned around, and soon enough Dunn found an attractive face staring back.

"Hm? P-pardon?" she stuttered. "Heh, sorry about that. Asshole boyfriend, I called him out here so I could break up with him. Ya needed something?"

"Uh… yeah."

_Must… resist… urge… to… FLIRT!_

"Mmhmm. We were wondering where the Delta compound was. Romeo right here needs to chat with a Juliet there," Dunn said.

He then slipped his arms out of the ACU jacket he was wearing open, and threw it off into the back seat. That revealed his T-shirt, which conveniently displayed his trim.

"Right. Do you want directions?"

She looked Dunn up and down and smirked seductively.

"…to my tent?"

Something else was touching the steering wheel besides Dunn's hands.

"All right, out you go," he frantically mumbled, shoving Ramirez against the door.

He stumbled out and fell to the ground, and when he looked back, the MP was getting in.

Dunn gave him an eager grin and mouthed a _sorry _before speeding off.

"Well… that was quick," James sighed.

Another MP walked up and looked around in confusion.

"Hey, did you happen to see my girl somewhere around here? She told me to meet her here."

James decided that he would have a bit of fun first.

"You idiot! You don't recognize me?"

Panic seized the MP's face.

"You… YOU TURNED INTO A GUY!?"

_This man is one of a kind, _James mused.

"Just kidding. But in all seriousness, where's the Delta compound?"

"Oh, just take the third right, and just keep walkin'."

"Thanks."

"Where did she go, then?"

"Right…" Ramirez started. "She wanted to tell you she was pregnant. Congratulations, pal!"

As he walked away, he heard the MP croak _shit _nervously.

* * *

"Hop in, let's move!"

Peter grabbed Natalia's arm and helped her into the 2012 Jeep Wrangler, just as it was already starting to move. Her new AKS-74U clanged against the exterior as she got in. Natalia's old gun ended up discarded, being a weapon that wasn't maintained ever since the end of the invasion of the US.

_Return to Sender_

_October 8, 2016_

_VDV Spetsnaz_

_Bosaso, Somalia_

A sandstorm loomed in the distance as the jeep rocketed over the sand, jolting violently.

"We meet up with Price a bit down the road!" Koslov announced from the front seat, turning to look at the soldiers in the back. "Pedal to the metal, Kaminski!"

"Y-yes sir!"

Not too long after, they merged with another Jeep on a coastline path. The vehicle lurched to the left of the other one, and sped through the water, the salty droplets of liquid pelting Natalia inside.

"Bravo Team, take point through the gate!" Price's familiar British voice ordered.

It came up over the bank, and momentarily was airborne before landing, barely hitting a few fleeing civilians. Natalia took a pair of aviator sunglasses clipped into her shirt and put them on, scanning for the enemy.

"Nikolai, soften 'em up!"

A Hind came in low to the left, and the rotor wash could even be felt by Kaminski as he struggled to keep the Jeep from being blown by it.

"Missiles away."

The projectiles slammed into the gate, sending debris and human everywhere. Some blood splattered the windshield, making Kaminski jump. Koslov, however, was unflinching.

They crashed through the gate, and after recovering from the shock, quickly dismounted. Natalia was already tapping shots out. Kuznetsov deployed his bipod and scanned for targets to pick off. Peter was keeping up sustained fire, shooting his PKP on full auto like there was no tomorrow. Kaminski cursed his role as a shotgunner, and he ducked behind cover and pulled out a lollipop to stick in his mouth.

"Push forwards!" Koslov urged.

Peter nodded to Natalia, sending a burst while she dashed forward to get behind some cover. She tossed a frag and followed up with automatic fire so he could move up. Once he was in position, she switched back to semi and shot controlled pairs to kill instead of suppress hostiles.

An explosion shook the ground and threw Natalia slightly off-balance. However, combined with the weight of her gear, this was enough to knock her into Peter and right onto him.

While pulling herself off, she heard some English speech, something regarding air support.

That one Russian guy with the 141… Yuri, wasn't it? He took out a tablet and started to do something on it. In the middle of combat?

Nikolai's chopper swooped above, and the guns spat fire onto the poor Somalian fighters below.

The Russians were in awe, watching the destruction. A _snap _sounded, and an enemy dropped over Natalia's cover, almost landing on her. She looked at the corpse and then back to the origin of the shot, seeing Kuznetsov's thumbs-up.

She turned to Peter.

"Covering for them. Three, two, one!"

When the two opened fire, Kuznetsov picked up on the signal, punching Kaminski in the shoulder to proceed. They both sprinted forwards, Kuznetsov stopping momentarily to crack another round into a Somalian's skull.

"Technical, coming in from the north!"

Natalia translated this, yelling to Koslov. He took an RPG from his back, sliding a warhead in. He fired it, and the rocket went straight through the window, into the driver, then exploded, taking out the truck.

Mortars rained from above, speeding up the advance as the soldiers tried to _not _get blown to bits.

"Clear the house, buy time!"

Kaminski didn't need to be told. He stepped to the door of a nearby building and blew off the hinges, then kicked it open. Kuznetsov rolled a flashbang in, and after it popped, Kaminski slipped inside. He bumped straight into a tango. He took the jagged muzzle of his shotgun, jammed it into his eye, and pulled the trigger. The brain matter stained the walls.

He stepped to the side, Natalia folding her AK's stock and moving up the stairs. She dropped one at the top, and his body tumbled down the stairs. She hopped over it, getting to the top, turning to the left where the doorway was, and kneeling.

Peter waited for her to finish killing an enemy or two before moving through the doorway and onto the roof. He set up his LMG there to help with covering fire, followed by Kuznetsov for sniper overwatch.

A welcome strafe came in from Nikolai, and a good amount of enemies were thinned out. Soon enough, most of them were dead.

"Bravo Team, secure the perimeter. Yuri, Soap, let's find this bastard!"

"You heard the man, let's go!" Koslov commanded. "Clear for stragglers! We'll set up on the roof of the building adjacent to the compound!"

They moved to breach that building. Same procedure – shotgun by Kaminski, flash from Kuznetsov, initial entry by Kaminski, cleanup by Natalia.

But as she took point to move up the stairs, once she was at the top, a burly man appeared with an old AK in hand. He grabbed her by the throat and pressed her up against the wall, putting the gun to her chin. He looked down the stairs and saw Koslov aiming his pistol, his face contorted into a violent expression of anger.

He threw Natalia down the stairs like a doll just as Koslov fired.

One of the rounds tore into Natalia's left shoulder before she tumbled down the stairs to a stop at Koslov's feet.

"Natalia!" he shouted, kneeling down to inspect the wound. "I am so sorry! Guys, move up!"

The other three went up the stairs while Koslov sat Natalia against the wall to investigate.

"It's not bleeding too bad," he reported, opening one of the pouches on her tactical vest and pulling out a bandage. He pushed it onto the wound and secured it in place.

"Can you still shoot?"

Natalia got up and tried to hold her weapon with two hands, but yelped at the pain and dropped it to hang by the strap.

"No, si-"

She remembered the PM-9 she had at her side. She wrapped the strap around the back of her neck and held it with one hand.

"Yes, sir."

"Good, let's move!"

When they got to the top, Price and the 141 were already on the second floor of the compound.

"Bravo One, get in position."

Koslov keyed his radio, replying, "Flanking now. Multiple hostiles entering second floor room."

The Spetsnaz soldiers helped take some of the gunmen's attention so Price and his men could get to Waraabe. They could just barely see the door blow open, and the 141 guys moving in…

* * *

As soon as the Osprey landed, Bradford was already waiting.

Jenna resumed her masquerade as McCoy, and Frost agreed to go with it for the time being.

In her mind, Jenna was obsessing over how much she loved Frost. He was getting better by the second!

"Ah, it's good to see you back, boys!" Bradford greeted, slapping Jenna on the back as soon as she stepped off. "That was textbook."

He looked up at the Vice President, who waved off a Ranger trying to help him out.

"General, your people did a fine job bailing my sorry ass out," he said. "Thank you very much. Oh, and tell the young lady over there that she did great too. People like her remind me that we have the best armed forces the world has to offer."

Jenna froze.

_Aw, come on._

She picked up her pace and walked away, right as Bradford turned and scowled at her at an angle the VP couldn't see.

"Will do, sir," he affirmed, snapping a crisp salute.

As soon as he left, though, the general headed straight for Jenna.

"How… the hell… did you even go… bitch?" he growled, grabbing her shoulder and holding her back. "I'll have your ass for this. I swear I will-"

Sandman suddenly stepped in before Frost could even raise a finger.

"Sir, all due respect, but please do not harass my medic. You'll know everything once I submit my formal report in debriefing. Allow me to take disciplinary action, sir."

Jenna's eyes widened. Sandman was defending her now!?

Bradford allowed himself to slowly exhale, attempting to keep his composure.

"Very well. I'll be looking forward to that report, by the way."

With that, they separated.

While Bradford walked away, he was deep in thought. Something was bothering him, but he didn't want to admit it.

_He wanted her._

Yet he despised her with an intense passion. She was too unruly, too reckless, too dangerous. But, weren't the men he led the same? She was everything he saw in the best soldiers – loyal, determined, deadly, and good-hearted. Except she was a woman. A young one at that, aged 21. This was one giant paradox. She wasn't fit at all for the job. Too young, too weak, not good enough to be Delta, much less a Ranger. At the same time, she fought right alongside them and proved that she was operator material.

The general was blinded by his wrath, his hatred.

_But beneath it all was lust._

He wanted to forcefully pin her up against a wall, fight her strength. For her to realize she wouldn't be able to resist his grip. For her to finally submit to someone for once. He craved the sounds of her pained arousal as she would try to battle his dominance to no avail.

But, of course, that would never happen. He'd busted his ass to get to this point, and something like that would be a definite career-breaker. He could try his best to cover it up, and it would have worked with any other bitch. But this one was that Stelara's personal pet, and the second a word came from Moore's mouth, she would hold it as gospel.

He grunted and continued along, replacing the fantasies in his head with ideas on how to get the medic transferred, or maybe even killed, if all else failed.

Meanwhile, Jenna dumped all of her gear on the ground in the med bay, getting to work on Frost's head injury.

"It still hurts," he reluctantly confessed.

"You're lucky you didn't get a concussion there. All that happened was that some part of your helmet ended up breaking the skin. When you hit your head inside the tank after the car dropped, you got the injury."

Frost looked up at her while she glanced down at her clipboard. She was so intent on what she was doing.

He still couldn't get over how happy he was. She did fantastic out there. She was actual Ranger material.

She suddenly began to sob for a moment before choking it back and carrying on.

"Is something… wrong?" Frost inquired nervously.

"No, no," Jenna dismissed.

"Don't lie to me. Moore."

She looked up at him, and he looked back. They stared into each other's eyes, locking their stares for the longest they ever had.

And what Frost saw was something in her gaze behind the tears welling up, something that he knew, but had never seen once in his entire life, or his nineteen-odd failures with the opposite gender.

"I… I was worried about you," Jenna mumbled, abruptly averting her hazel eyes. "Because… I…"

Thoughts flashed through her mind faster than the rate of fire on a minigun.

_Come on, spit it out already._

_You'll never be with him._

_You're not good enough._

_Give it a chance!_

_You won't know if you don't try!_

_No, it's not worth it!_

_JUST TELL HIM!_

She suddenly remembered her infatuation the first time she gazed straight into those electric blue orbs of his. The way he carried himself, like a professional. How level-headed he was compared to herself. When she was underneath a Russian terrorist, nearly naked, how he was the one who came to the rescue for her. His comforting yet firm touch as he gripped her wrist to liberate her from that compound. How he took his own time to train her, shape her into a better soldier so she could fight to her full potential. His stern voice when he defended her from the General Bradford, his tolerance for Stelara's abuse. His anger towards McCoy when he attempted moves on her, possibly tinged with jealousy. And his comforting embrace earlier on when she took a bullet for him, and shamefully admitted she couldn't do anymore. But his encouragement gave her the strength to keep going.

She was afraid of losing him.

Ramirez was right, it was definitely shallow to admire him just because of his looks, and baseless assumptions about his personality. But… now that she knew him, she realized why he had to be the one.

_JUST TELL HIM! _The thought reiterated itself.

"I-…"

She squeezed her eyes shut as her entire face lit red from her extreme blush.

"…I LOVE YOU, DEREK!"

_What the hell!? _Frost's mind screamed.

"I love you," she repeated quietly and innocently. She was really telling the truth.

"And, I really d-d-didn't want to lose you. Because of that."

She stood, clenching her fists, trembling, her eyes trying to hold themselves closed on top of the tears pouring out of her face.

Her eyes flew open. And Frost could see right into the hazel.

"PLEASE DON'T KEEP ME WAITING LIKE THIS! JUST TELL ME YOU DON'T ALREADY! I CAN'T FREAKING TAKE IT ANYMORE!"

With that, Frost got off the medical cot and suddenly embraced her. He took the back of her head and pressed her face into his shoulder, to absorb her tears like he did before. His fingers weaved through her chestnut hair, which had finally grown long enough for her to tie it back a bit. He wasn't sure why he noticed something like that, but he did.

"Shh… just calm down. All right? You're getting stressed over nothin'."

He wasn't even sure how to feel himself. One side liked her back at the least. He wanted to care for her. On the other hand, he knew it wouldn't be good for the team. For the others. And he knew this was the first girl not to reject him, in fact, she was the only to confess. It was flipped for once.

He was still unsure of his feelings.

_Later on, Westbrook. Set this aside. What matters more is the war you're fighting._

Frost was a professional. His job was the most important thing to him at this point. It was pretty much the only thing he had left, actually. Unlike many of the soldiers around himself, who had families and such to stay alive for. He knew Jenna didn't have anything of the sort, and neither did he.

When the crying stopped, he separated with her and dried her face with his sleeve. She hiccupped a few periodic sniffles, so he decided to keep her in his arms until she completely recovered.

It was finally over, and Frost chuckled.

"You act really funny, you know that? That's why we like to keep you around. You remind us all of what we were like as kids."

Jenna held back a giggle, and she stepped backwards in embarrassment of what just happened. Something about it all just made Frost feel very strange.

Frost found himself acting on impulse, feeling as if he was unable to control what he was about to do. He took Jenna by the shoulders, slowly backing her towards a cot at the back of the tent. He lowered her onto it, climbing on and straddling her. He wanted to respond to what she just told him, her confession, but he really couldn't spit out the words himself. His body was moving on its own.

They gazed into each other's eyes for a second, and Jenna's eyes simultaneously widened when she realized what happened. Yet… neither wanted to move. Both were in a trance.

"J-Jenna, I..." Frost sighed, cupping her cheek before hearing somebody approaching.

"Ugh, took forever to get here, those goddamn bad directions. Hi, Jenna, got a present for y-"

Ramirez had suddenly stepped in. Where did he even come from? How did he know where they were?

"…I see. Never mind. I'll see ya around."

His patrol cap concealed the tears in his eyes as he whipped around and walked out.

"Wait, no! James!" Jenna called from beneath Frost.

"It's not what you think!" Frost added.

_Who are you fucking kidding? It is exactly what it looks like! _he thought. _This is as cliche as it gets..._

They both got up, and Jenna stared at Frost with a panicked face.

"Just go," Frost ordered, nodding that it was okay.

She took off through the flaps of the tent, running after Ramirez.

* * *

"All right, we're done here, let's go," Koslov notified, confirming that whatever the 141 was doing with the warlord was done.

A collective sigh came from the team, having to relocate way too much.

"Let's just get it done with," Peter grunted, starting down the stairs.

"Good. Move your asses, we meet up with them, and we get them to the LZ in twenty seconds."

Natalia tried her best to steady her PM-9 with one hand as they moved. Weight was no issue, but the recoil would be a bitch to handle once she pulled the trigger.

A gunman popped out of a doorway in front of them, and hit Peter square in his plate carrier, knocking him to the ground. He panted, rolling out of the way with all his strength. Natalia came behind and sprayed the contents of her mag into the hostile, absolutely sure he was dead. These guys didn't wear any armor at all.

"Fuckin' 141," Kuznetsov growled, helping Peter up. "Because of them we're getting torn to bits."

Koslov got out of the alley and crouched, aiming his rifle down the street. Natalia jogged out next, and to her left the two Brits and one Russian appeared.

Nikolai's chopper hovered above, about to land and pick them up, but not before an RPG blew up on the ground beneath it, sending Koslov through the air and luckily into cover. A few rounds impacted everywhere, kicking up tiny clouds of dust. Kuznetsov knelt, peering through his scope. He heard one of the English voices yelling something. He didn't understand the word, but the tone and situation was universal for any soldier.

_Sniper._

"Ambush!" the guy with the mohawk screamed.

Koslov scooted up against the wall, inserting a warhead into his launcher once again.

"Kuznetsov, where the ass is that bastard!?"

Kuznetsov desperately looked for the sniper, seeing an instant, familiar glint. The shine of a scope.

"Second building to the left."

"Good, clear the backblast!"

He shot his RPG straight at the building, and waited about a second… before it exploded and took out a whole chunk of the building.

The best way to take out a sniper is with missiles, of course.

"Get outta the open!"

"On the rooftops!"

Peter sprayed at the enemies periodically popping their heads out to fire, planting a few lucky rounds into them here and there, his bullets peppering the concrete and destroying it.

"Nikolai, change of plan! Head to the secondary LZ!"

"That sandstorm is moving in fast. I won't be able to touchdown once it hits."

"…just be there."

The Russians held position to keep off the enemies while the 141 soldiers made a mad dash to their evac. Once they were gone, Koslov ordered his men to go to their own LZ, where Tasha, Irina, and Dmitri were waiting.

They weren't even trying to cover each other anymore, now in an effort to rush to the chopper before the sandstorm came in. 7.62s whizzed from behind. Natalia whipped her head around, her PM-9 chattering as she suppressed whoever was shooting.

"Come on, get in!" Volkov yelled, waving the team inside.

Natalia remained outside, keeping a constant stream of bullets flying.

"What are you doing, Petrova?"

"Buying time!"

She ran through her mag, dumping it on the ground and painstakingly locking in a new one. Then the next. Then the next…

The gun clicked dry, and the barrel was probably wrecked at this point. Natalia got into the chopper, collapsed on the seat, and grabbed her arm.

"Fuck, it hurts!"

"We're off!"

The wheels lifted off the ground, and they escaped to a good distance away from the sandstorm.

Suddenly, they saw Nikolai's chopper go down from where they were.

"Aw, shit."

* * *

Jenna caught up to him, grabbing his wrist.

James merely wrestled his arm away, continuing his stride.

"James!"

He ignored her.

"James, nothing at all happened there! All right? You saw the gear on the ground, we tripped and-"

"That was the 'Frost' guy, wasn't it?"

That shut her up.

He stopped and turned around, doing something he had never done before, to anyone, in his entire life.

"HOW ABOUT YOU MAKE UP YOUR FUCKING MIND ALREADY!?" he screamed, shoving Jenna to the ground. "JUST DECIDE ALREADY, YOU DAMN WHORE! WHO DO YOU CARE MORE ABOUT!? IF YOU CAN'T TELL ME… JUST FUCK OFF."

With that, he turned around, threw something on the ground, and left her behind.

"B-but James," Jenna whimpered too quietly for him to hear. "I really do love you."

_Maybe… even more than Frost._

She couldn't deny her feelings for him too. He was there for her when she was alone, an outcast among the Rangers. He was the only one who accepted her even after what had happened on Firebase Phoenix. The kindness he had shown to her was more than most of the people in her life, and more sincere. He really deserved better.

Jenna decided that she had to do something.

She got up and went after him again, not giving a damn anymore. She took him by the shoulder, spun him around, and pressed her lips onto his. He could feel the moist tears streaming over her soft face.

Ramirez stepped back, shaking his head. He turned and continued away, and he couldn't take anymore. He broke into a run to escape, to leave it all behind himself.

_He's right. Make up your mind, _Jenna thought to herself, dropping to her knees and allowing her thoughts to overwhelm her.

_This is why I hate you. You fuck everything up, everything._

_You can't even handle that, what makes you think you deserve either of them?_

_You really deserved that reputation, you whore._

_You aren't worth their time._

Jenna turned around and spotted the package on the ground. She bent down and picked it up, opening it to inspect its contents.

A modernized trench knife – that is, a knife with brass knuckles attached to the handle. Looked custom-made from an M9 bayonet. She suddenly remembered a conversation the two had once during a random break in Afghanistan.

"_So, ever thought of what would happen if you were up against a knife?" James asked, playing with his own blade. "We get that your fists do good damage. But you won't last long against something sharp."_

"_Well," Jenna reasoned. "I would use my own knife, of course."_

"_You keep it in such a bad place! It's hard to get to it. Plus, you barely take care of that thing at all. It's more likely to hurt yourself than the bad guy."_

"_Guess you're right. Does it have to be a knife? I like other melee weapons better. Like the pair of brass knuckles I had back in high."_

"_Oh, I know, what you want is a trench knife."_

"_Hella badass!"_

"_How about this, Jen? I promise, I'll getcha one when we're finally home from this dump."_

"_Really?"_

"_Yeah, sure. It's on me. I know a guy who can make really cool things like that. I ought to take you sometime…"_

Jenna's eyes shifted from the knife to her arm, and the image of crisscrossed scars across it flashed through her thoughts. Self-inflicted injury warranted a dishonorable discharge, usually. There was a faded line where she accidentally slit her arm while cutting off an injured soldier's clothes, maybe she might get away with it if she made it look unintentional.

Her hands shook.

She found herself adding a few more.

And she felt something deep in her chest that she hadn't felt in five years or so.

Was it depression?

* * *

The MI-8 circled the sandstorm, trying to spot the wreckage through the ominous cloud handing in the air.

Soon enough, the team of PMCs located Nikolai, and they got out on Jeeps.

"It must suck down there, in that sandstorm," Kaminski muttered, staring downward.

"Too right."

Natalia intently monitored the radio conversations.

"So Volk's in Paris. How are we getting there in the middle of a bloody war?"

"We can't, but I know who can."

Natalia already knew who would be doing it.

The Americans.

* * *

Sandman submitted the report. He made sure to put emphasis on the fact that without Jenna, the mission could have been compromised.

He didn't trust the rookie at all at first. She was absolute garbage and couldn't handle herself. She even got herself captured.

But that kid Frost took her under his wing. Forced her to become better. That boy saw something in her, Sandman could tell these kinds of things after all these years. He saw something between the two, some kind of relationship.

If that developed into anything more than friendship, which was already risky, then that could disrupt unit cohesion. Because if those two cared more for each other than the rest of the team, then everything would go to hell and back.

But he didn't want to get in the way of their love, if it was there. As a father, he'd done it to his daughter, and she ended up ODing and nearly dying in the hospital. He didn't want to risk anything happening like that. Never again.

He made sure he had everything with himself, and started outside to catch the plane. He'd just gotten a report from a certain contact, and now Team Metal was going to catch a key player in the attacks.

Next stop was France.

* * *

**Early new chapter!? What!?**

**First things first. No ships have been sunken. Just switched around or put off for now. Frost's job's gotten in the way of his relationship with Jenna. Cockblocked by the job, if you will. And Ramirez has probably lost all hope, but Jenna's finally realized her feelings for him… a bit late.**

**Yeah, that scene with Ramirez trolling the MP was too funny to resist. Same with Dunn hooking up with said MP's girlfriend. **

**We have the Russians operating operationally, not too much there. Sorry if it's a bit lackluster, those parts were rushed. Guess the mission that part was based on.**

**I admit it. *Raises hands* Bradford actually wants to have some of Jenna. But it ain't love. It's lust. Hot, dirty, messy lust. And that guy is old… ew!**

**Sandman has finally realized Jenna's potential and will give her the respect she deserves now. She's earned it.**

**It's good to see Jenna having confessed. And that awkward moment… LOL. I know damn well how absolutely cliche that whole scene was, but frankly, you shouldn't expect much from me.**

**Ramirez finally gets angry for once. He's a nice guy as you guys have said, but even he has a limit. Poor poor James. On the other hand, **_**now **_**the girl he loves likes him back. Talk about Bad Luck Brian fortune.**

**The knife. Well, anonymous skrub did point out Jenna could use one after all. A pal of mine said he thought trench knives were cool.**

**Quick thing here, don't rag on me for having Jenna slice n' dice. She's obviously gone through depression before, and self-harm is no surprise. Very risky for a soldier, though. Having self-mutilation scars when enlisting automatically permanently disqualifies you from joining, and self-inflicted injuries during service means dishonorable discharge. Very risky. I myself have suffered from depression and all that jazz, but I know not to do anything stupid like that, haha.**

**Well, things will happen. We'll always have Paris… to surrender.**

**JK, the GIGN is baddass af. Dem operators fresh to death.**

**5TORM OUT!  
**


	23. We'll Always Have Paris!

**Wow, guys. I barely got views or reviews on the last chapter. Ayy, lmao. I wonder where my fans went.**

**Whatever, I thought the intense drama would, y'know, pique your interests. But I digress.**

**It so turns out there's this pretty popular petition for an MW2 remake to hit next-gen. As you might know, I love MW2 on the same level I do Clannad and Paramore, so uh, yeah, that's my favorite CoD game ever. I hope that does happen indeed. As long as we don't get those stupid OMA and USP .45 Tac Knife Commando people… *shudders***

**Well, your chapter, guys!**

* * *

A Little Bird sliced through the skies above France, with intimidating figures on board, who were donning gas masks and wielding assault rifles. To a child, they might have seemed like angels in demons' disguises, ready to save them from the evil monsters that were killing everyone.

Jenna was deep in thought about this. It reminded her of a phrase she saw once.

_A little girl in a foreign country prayed that heavenly angels would come down from heaven and save her family from evil._

_ETA: 2 minutes._

As a medic, she always had to keep an air of being friendly, not scary. But the gas mask she wore displayed otherwise – it obscured most of her face, except for maybe her eyes, reddened from a good amount of crying.

"_This guy's the asshole we're going for," Sandman announced, handing Grinch a photo to pass around._

She took something from a newly added sheath on her vest. It was the knife from Ramirez.

"_What's his name?" Frost inquired, observing the picture, memorizing the man's features._

Her eyes slowly crept to her arm. She opted for a long-sleeved combat shirt instead. She had forgotten to fasten the cuffs, and they were being blown about by the wind and riding up her forearm.

"_Volk. He's helped move this gas in."_

Jenna's cuts were still fresh from yesterday. She quickly slid her sleeve down and secured it, so Frost couldn't see. Her focus once again moved to the ocean of green clouds below.

_I can hear my breathing, _she noticed.

Not until now did she ever really pay much attention to that. It sounded youthful, as if it belonged to a teenager nervous on her first date, as opposed to an Army medic flying into an occupied, gas-polluted Paris.

_Bag and Drag_

_October 9, 2016_

_Delta Force_

_Montmartre Hill, Paris_

"Last time it was Germans, this time it's Russians. These guys can't catch a break, and neither can we," Frost mused.

The usual depressing radio traffic continued, but at this point the entire team was used to hearing what newbies would find demoralizing. Even the compassionate Jenna at this point could handle it. Her newfound sense of depression definitely acted as a barrier to even feel sorrow for the dead at that moment.

"Any station, any station, this is ODA 595," the voice sighed. "All civilians at the Louvre are dead. Requesting decon units and medevac."

"595, this is Overlord actual. Negative. All US forces in Paris are engaged. Triage the civilians and move your team upwind of the plume," Overlord responded, detached as always.

The skids hit the roof, then the boots. Frost took up the SCAR-L he borrowed from Jenna in exchange for his M4A1. He expected her to be proficient with it, having used the M4 platform from Afghanistan to Washington.

"This area's still dirty from the chemical attack. Keep your masks on," Sandman advised.

"No worries, I would anyway. Truck's farts are nasty, even from here," Grinch snickered.

"Yo, Grinch, can you learn to shut up, for like, three seconds?" Truck shot back over the radio.

Jenna liked Truck. She didn't talk with him much, and vice versa. But he was definitely polite to her, and she highly respected him. He kept a level head most of the time but his weakness was when Grinch poked at him, like now.

"Truck, we're on the deck and moving," Sandman continued.

"Roger. I'll meet you at the LZ in one hour. Good luck."

One by one, they hopped down the roof and approached the building. Jenna fell, nearly crushing Grinch. She used all her strength to stop herself from colliding with him, instead stumbling and crashing into the wall right next to an entrance to the building.

She decided to round the corner and head in, Sandman and the rest on her six. The entire area was eerily quiet… probably because everyone was dead at this point. They cleared the doorways to their sides and made sure their corners were clear, moving through the hallway, which had green fog drifting along its floor. An explosion from outside rocked the building, knocking a painting off the wall and hitting Frost's helmet.

Sandman received a transmission from Overlord, which Jenna ended up missing because of the sight she saw at the end of the hallway.

A civilian man's corpse slumped at the bottom of the wall.

Jenna inspected it for vitals, looked up to Sandman, and shook her head no. She stepped back to cover the others' movement. She could feel her watch cap coming off her head, and quickly went to push it back down over her hair.

"595 sounds like they got hit hard. Lot of rooks in that unit."

To his left, Frost passed a young couple dead on the couch and cringed. Maybe too many dead people for him, and that said a lot since his job was causing dead people.

"No one's a rook today."

Jenna deliberately looked away, recalling the two she tried to bring to safety in Virginia. At least they died together, right?

Distracted by this, she almost walked straight off a ledge to plummet a few stories down. A hand on the drag handle of her rig pulled her back just in time.

"Close one," Grinch said.

Sandman threw a piece of debris off the edge that was blocking the way. He took point, Grinch behind him, Frost following.

Frost suddenly froze and turned his back to the wall so he could cross the narrow edge. He couldn't help but look down. He saw an outdoor café covered in gas, and more dead people filling it.

"I'm gonna fucking puke in my mask, I swear," he muttered.

"Watch your step."

The three men cautiously made their way around. Jenna shuffled behind, a bit quicker because of her slim figure.

"Be advised, GIGN is taking heavy casualties. You'll need to double-time it to make the RV."

Sandman immediately uttered, "Patch me through to 'em," and his wish was fulfilled.

A French-accented voice came through.

"This is Sabre! How much longer?"

"Three minutes out. Keep your perimeter secure, we're almost there."

"Please, just hurry!"

A hint of desperation was in his voice. That wasn't a good sign.

Frost jogged down the stairs, Grinch and Sandman beside a window ahead. When he walked past it, an unexpected round nailed the battery on the back of his head. Jenna immediately slipped out of the way, while Frost knelt to feel his helmet.

"Damn it, helmet light's out of commission," he sighed.

"CONTACT! Building across the street!" Grinch reported.

"Go loud!"

Frost went down the stairs, punched the window open, and fired a short burst from the SCAR-L. The sound of bullet impacts mixed with the 5.56 shell casings tapping the floor.

He got out of the window while Jenna moved down, shooting some semi-auto shots to suppress.

Once she covered through the window, Frost continued, Sandman and Grinch following behind to the ground level.

"Frost, with me! Hit the bookstore!"

He saw a Russian running in. He planted a few rounds into his back, bringing him down.

Jenna flipped the magnifier into place on her M4 and followed Grinch.

"On the balcony!"

"Engagin'."

She fired upwards to Grinch could move to cover. When he was in position, she made a mad dash to get behind something and away from the blizzard of 7.62.

Frost and Sandman finished the job, weaving between desks and bookshelves and clearing the room.

"Clear! Check the door!" Grinch ordered.

"Sabre, this is Sandman. Watch your fire to the north. We are coming to you."

"Copy that. _Merde. _We're glad to see you."

A handful of Ultranationalists tried to flee to their front after the Delta soldiers burst through the door. The escaping men dropped when rounds plunged though their backs and pelted the wall.

"It's the GIGN!"

Jenna followed behind, kicking one of the bloody bodies aside.

"What's your status?"

"Seven men standing."

"Where's Volk?"

Jenna bit her tongue to hold herself back from adding, _Yeah, where is that fucker!?_

"The Russians launched the chemical attack from a staging ground in the catacombs. We believe Volk is there," Sabre reported.

Out of the building and into the streets were swarming with angry Russians.

Jenna somehow remained focused the entire time. She engaged enemies while a teammate moved, moved when they were engaging, rinse and repeat, occasional tumble-dry low.

"RPG, top of the stairs!" Sandman yelled after going out into the street.

An exploding rocket sent a civvy's corpse thumping against the wall next to Jenna. She struggled to see through the smoke, but noticed multiple trails coming from ahead.

"The bastards are spamming them!" she cried, flicking her fire selector to auto and spraying.

"I'm going up!" Frost announced. "Keep up the cover, Hook."

"Roger!"

A GIGN operator took his place next to Moore and set his LMG down.

"You're good, _Mademoiselle_," he complimented. "Go."

"_Merci," _Jenna replied, running forwards.

She tried to slide behind a crate, but a grenade exploded on the other side. The shockwave brought her tumbling into the cover, right into a perfect position to see the RPG guys. She scored a headshot on one of them, but not before he launched a round. It flew into the wall behind the machine gunner, and engulfed his body in the explosion. A hand and a helmet visor went back in the direction of the enemies, and the gun skidded only a few feet out from Jenna.

"You fuckers."

She went prone and crawled to the gun. She reached out to flip the LMG over onto its crumpled remains of a bipod.

"HEY, EAT SHIT! BITCH!"

She kept the rounds coming from it until the barrel started steaming.

"We're oscar mike, Hook. Let's go!"

"Copy fuckin' that!"

She got up and kicked the gun over, following behind.

At the top of the stairs, they could see a convoy of Russian jeeps driving by. Sabre took point, going around the corner and into an empty building. He spotted the silhouette of an enemy soldier through a doorway, and calmly stepped aside once they fired.

Frost came around, placed the target in his sight, and dropped him in less than a second.

One of the random GIGN operators went ahead and took point, and the team followed behind. They exited the building, walked through an alleyway, and found themselves at the top of a set of stairs. Down below, swarming with enemies.

The French soldier caught an unexpected GP-25 grenade in _her _stomach, as Jenna figured from the high-pitched grunt.

"Ah. Fuck," she calmly swore, glancing down, dropping to her knees.

Jenna was about to go out to get her out of the line of fire, but not until she dropped the rest of the way, and the grenade exploded. Chunks of flesh flew out, and her helmet rolled off, revealing jet black hair neatly tied out of the way.

"Damn! DuFontaine!" another GIGN man snapped, running towards the body.

"Philippe! No!"

An RPG impacted at his feet, taking out his legs. He dropped at the other side in cover, rolling and screaming, clawing at his stumps.

"I gotcha!" Jenna yelled, about to move to him.

Frost pulled her back, turned her around, and looked straight at her.

"Don't," he affirmed. "There's no saving that guy."

With that, he took the pistol out of his holster and shot the man in the head from where they were, evoking a gasp from Hook and ending the suffering man's wails.

"Boss, we got bad guys around," Grinch reported.

"How many we got?" Sandman responded.

"Looks like Moscow down there! We need air support!"

"Hooah," Jenna muttered under her breath.

"Warhammer, this is Metal 0-1. Request fire mission, over."

"Roger, Metal 0-1. Established in orbit at 12,000 feet. Full load. Mark your targets," the pilot of the AC-130 above drawled.

Frost plucked a purple smoke grenade from his vest and chucked it into the crowd below.

"Target confirmed. Going hot."

The Thermal Imaging TV Operator nonchalantly launched a few rounds from the 40mm Bofors cannon.

"Pew-pew-pew!" he whispered to himself.

Jenna witnessed the projectiles massacring the Russians below.

"Yeah, come and fuckin' get this hot American shit!" she jeered. "That's for the Frenchies, you vodka-drunk commies!"

The team went down the stairs and kept going. Noticeably fewer people were shooting at them, and that was definitely a good thing.

The volume of enemy fire gradually decreased with the amount of smoke grenades being tossed until most of the infantry was wiped clean off the face of the earth by the AC-130 above.

But only the _infantry _was gone.

"Frost, BTR at the end of the alley! Put smoke on it!"

Frost felt his vest, but he was completely out. Even worse, he was the only one who loaded up on smoke grenades.

"Son of a-" he grunted.

He saw Jenna behind a pile of rubble, returning fire. And right next to her ass, a perfectly intact RPG launcher.

"Hook! Hey, get me that RPG!" he yelled, trying not to stare.

She took it and held it up.

"Yeah, that one! I'll cover!"

She ran over and deposited it, dropping to prone and firing a suppressive burst.

"Engaging! Hurry up!" she snapped.

"Three. Two. One!"

She dropped her head back down at the same moment the rocket went out, slamming into the BTR and roasting the guys inside.

"Russian barbecue, anyone?" Grinch chuckled morbidly as the crew pounded on the walls.

"BTR destroyed! Way to improvise, Frost!"

Hook and Frost hi-fived each other and pressed forward.

A Russian guy on fire collapsed at Jenna's feet.

"Please! Please! Help! HELP!" he begged, grabbing her ankle.

Usually, her sense of morality would have urged her to spare his life. But that wasn't the Jenna who was there at that moment.

She kicked his face, took her knife out, and punched him across the face with the knuckle part of it. She held his writhing body down with her foot, listening to him scream as the flames engulfed his lower half. When she had enough, she stomped the fire (and his burnt legs) out, then stooped down to slice his gas mask open.

She left, leaving the choking man on the ground behind.

"Holy crap. Hook," Frost said.

"She's one to be feared," Sabre remarked. "Glad she's on _our _side."

"We're clear!" Grinch declared.

"The entrance is up ahead."

They approached a manhole. Sandman rolled it aside, glancing down into the abyss he just revealed.

Frost got to the bottom to see his boss pacing in a circle, holding a device in his hand.

"Checking for toxins. Hold up."

A few seconds passed.

"I've got negative contamination in this area. Masks off – but keep your eyes open."

The entire team got a breath of air that was nowhere near fresh, but at least better than using the gas masks.

Jenna recalled a line from something she'd read long ago as she stepped into the darkness.

_The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as best I could, but when he ventured upon insult I vowed revenge._

"For the love of God, Montressor," she quipped.

* * *

Natalia suddenly stirred from her sleep when all of a sudden someone ripped her sheets off. First time in a real bed for a really long time, and then that happened.

She whipped out the knife she kept under her pillow instinctively, but not before she was staring down the barrel of a Desert Eagle.

"What in the bloody hell are you doing? Sleeping with that thing beneath your pillow," Captain Price chided, lowering the gun.

Natalia sighed, somewhat embarrassed that she made herself look bad.

"We need your arse out of bed and moving, lass," Price continued, throwing some civilian clothes onto the mattress. "You and your friends are shipping out."

"You know, he specifically asked us to barge in on you," Soap added. "Said he'd felt bad if he did it. Now hurry up and change."

"What's with the civvies?" Natalia inquired. "And, umm... would you guys mind stepping out really quick while I change?"

"Shut up and-" Price began, slightly irritated.

"Now, now, it's fine. We won't stare... right? Price?" Soap said, elbowing his partner. "Look. See? We're turning around. We don't have much time, so we're telling you what's going down as you change."

Soap started to explain as Natalia reluctantly stripped her clothes off. It was really cold in the room for some reason, even though she had been comfortably sleeping in shorts and a T-shirt moments earlier. Soap shot a very quick peek at her and snickered, scratching the back of his head.

"White lace... you trying to impress someone?"

"What the hell!? You said you wouldn't look!" Natalia whined indignantly.

"Couldn't help it. Have to say, your Sergeant is sure missing out."

The second he said that, Koslov opened the door and walked in. It was definitely a coincidence, but the timing was uncanny.

"Petrova, want some coff-" he began, opening his eyes and beholding the sight before himself.

He happened to walk in on the strangest sight he'd seen for a while. The sole female member of his team, stripped down to some pretty racy stuff and struggling to put on a pair of pants. Two much older men off to the side, facing away. One was irritated, the other trying to hold in his laughter. Koslov dropped his coffee, unable to stop looking. Natalia's face instantly turned red when she saw Koslov staring from the corner. She covered her chest with her arms.

She made eye contact with Koslov, who was equally embarrassed as she was.

"C-Come on guys, I hope you know you could have told her everything _through the door_ or something!"

"Oh. Right," Soap realized, pausing for a second. "Th-This was Price's idea!"

He then proceeded to run out of the room, Price grumbling as he followed.

"I am so sorry, Petrova, I, uh..." Koslov apologized, averting his eyes. "I'll meet you outside."

Natalia stood still for a couple of seconds, even after they were gone. What the hell just happened? What was with that look Koslov was giving her? And even though she wasn't wearing that underwear to impress anyone, why was it that she was slightly annoyed that Koslov didn't at least mention it?

"Why do I care?" she said out loud.

In the hallway, she bumped into Kaminski, who was dressed in a Russian Ground Forces uniform. So was Koslov and Kuznetsov. That left…

Peter came out, wearing a worn set of jeans and a jacket, topped off with a pair of ski goggles on his forehead.

"What the hell?" Natalia sighed.

"Just get your weapon, let's get going," Peter emphasized.

"You guys," Koslov started as they walked. "We're going to Prague."

"Don't we have soldiers there?" Kuznetsov realized.

"Mm. And we're meeting up with them."

"What about us two?" Natalia demanded, pulling her hair back into a ponytail.

"Well… you're going with _them," _Koslov disclosed, referring to the 141 soldiers.

"That's right," Soap said, taking Natalia aside. "They're going to try and divert your friends away from our mission."

"In fact, you're going to meet your sergeant's old boss," Price added.

"You smell that? _Da, _Kamarov," Koslov chuckled.

Natalia thought about it for a second. So many _K _names.

"Oi, you're confusing us at this point with all these _K's,_" Soap said, iterating Natalia's thoughts.

"Oh. Uh, my name is Alex. Kuznetsov's name is Sergei. You can just refer to us by those names, sir," Kaminski spoke up.

"Anyway. As for you two youngsters… you will be meeting up with Kamarov. He's organizing the Czech Resistance, and you have to blend in with them," Price continued to Natalia and Peter.

"Explains the outfits," Peter nodded, handing Natalia her Mechanix shooting gloves.

"Sounds fine," Natalia replied.

She saw that Yuri, the Russian 141 member, was staring at her quite a lot in a really weird way. She found it somewhat suspicious, but didn't pay much mind to it.

"Is it just me or is he giving you _the eye?_" Peter whispered, also noticing.

She ignored it, finally realizing an important point.

"Why in the FUCK are we going to the Czech Republic!?"

The room was awkwardly silent for a moment while everyone fumbled for an answer. Why _were _they going there?

"We're going to try and assassinate Makarov," Pavel finally announced.

"Wait… _the _Vladimir Makarov?" Kaminski blurted.

"That Makarov," Soap said. "Which is why you are here. Not to run support for us the entire time. We are all going to try and take him out."

"Yup. Even before your president disappeared, he already saw it coming that it would be a good idea to get rid of that guy before he did anything else," Price added. "But, obviously, Makarov kind of did do something, so to put it bluntly, he failed at that."

This was probably the most important assassination Price had attempted ever since Pripyat. He didn't particularly agree with working with the Russians, but he allowed it to pass, especially since Pavel was a man he worked with during the Civil War.

"The idea is you two will try and pretend to be a random civilian couple. As the other two and I try to divert Russian forces, Soap and Yuri will get into position to snipe Makarov. At that point, Nat- Petrova and Chernenko, you will try and get rid of him before or after the point he passes the snipers," Koslov explained. "I want you to bring concealed pistols at that point. We'll have your primaries if shit hits the fan, got it?"

All of a sudden, he saw Yuri eyeing Natalia from the corner of the room. Technically this guy was a superior, but for some reason, Koslov just couldn't stand anyone staring at her that way.

"Hey! Stop giving her that look, pal!" he barked.

"Or what?" Yuri returned. "If you think it's like that, it's not. I was just observing the fact that she seems a bit timid and too young for this mission."

"_Seems. _She may be somewhat calm, and she is indeed young. But I picked her for a reason, buddy. I know what she is capable of doing. If you can't deal with that, then why don't you pick up the slack yourself?"

The tension was high at this point in the room.

_Why is he acting like that? _Natalia pondered. _He's usually… colder towards us on the team. When did he care?_"

"You two, knock it off!" Price interjected. "We're on the same side, remember?"

"Ay. Let's just get moving already, shall we?" Soap grinned.

Peter took Natalia's shoulders and quickly escorted her out.

"That was kind of weird," he sighed.

"Talk about it."

Natalia reached for her cigarettes again and lit one.

"I never expected to see you like this," Peter went on. "But… people have turned to worse, I suppose."

"Like what might that be?" Natalia asked, taking it out and blowing smoke.

"Well…" Peter began. "It was back in Virginia."

* * *

_Peter checked the door. It was unlocked._

_The squad shotgunner went in first and scanned the room._

"_Clear," she reported._

"_Move in," the sergeant ordered._

"_Hey, Sasha. Is this what American houses usually look like?" Peter asked. The reason being was because she actually grew up in the United States, until her mother died and her dad brought her back._

"_Pretty much. It's typical," she replied._

_A soldier started up the stairs when a man suddenly popped out with a pistol. He fired and took down the Russian, whose body tumbled to the bottom._

"_Contact!"_

_And in about a second, he was dead too._

"_These Yankees. Every other house has a gun, I swear… what the fuck is wrong with this country?" the sergeant muttered. "Check the rooms, guys."_

_Peter entered a bedroom with Sasha, and inside was who presumably was the man's son and daughter._

"_Hi… where's Daddy?" the girl asked, cocking her head._

_Sasha allowed her shotgun to hang by the sling and went up to them. _

"_Shh… don't want to hurt you. Hide. Or they will," she beckoned in the best English she could muster._

_Peter saw the fear in their eyes, that strange people with guns were in the house, that their father was dead out there in the hallway._

"_Uh, we're all clear out here!" Peter lied, yelling out of the door._

_The sergeant came, tightly holding the arm of a woman, probably the wife._

"_I know there are kids in here!" he bellowed, throwing her against the wall._

_Tears were flowing from her eyes as she desperately scooted up against the wall._

"_No, anything but my kids!" she begged. "Kill me! Not them! Please!"_

_Peter clenched his fists. He didn't join the army to kill innocent people like this. But orders were orders._

"_Ah," Sarge continued, speaking in English. "Children… come out of hiding."_

_He pressed the father's gun against the woman's head. Glock 17._

"_Or I shoot her."_

_The boy popped up._

"_No!" he screamed._

_But the Russian coldly shot the kid in the head instead, bringing him down._

"_You bastard!" Sasha screamed, rushing to the young boy's body. "What the hell is wrong with you!?"_

"_Anyway, I know there is a little girl here too. I saw the pictures."_

_He again put the pistol to the woman's head._

_Peter couldn't look. He turned his head as the gunshot echoed through the room and splattered brains on the wall. He could even see the kid wincing from the sound of the gun, struggling to keep quiet._

"_That's it!"_

_Sasha rushed over and tackled him to the ground, landing a few punches before the sergeant kicked her off._

"_Stop getting in the way," he growled. "You're making it harder."_

_He spotted the daughter and sadistically grinned, heading towards her._

"_There you are," he chuckled._

_Sasha got up and went for him again, this time raising her shotgun. But all he had to do was shoot her with the pistol._

_Peter saw her body crumple onto the bed. As she held the wound, she looked up at Peter with pleading eyes._

_Finish it._

_When the sergeant was about to execute the child, Peter took his knife and jammed it straight into his back._

"_YOU PIECE OF SHIT!" he choked, kicking him away and emptying the entire belt of his LMG into the Russian._

_He kicked the mangled body and froze, dropping the gun._

_Sasha held her hand out weakly from the bed, wearing a pained smile, stroking the young girl's hair._

_Her hand went limp, and Peter approached the daughter._

"_I am so sorry," he apologized tearfully. "I am not a monster… he is."_

_The entire room was covered in blood. He felt his arm trembling as he reached into his pocket for something._

_All he had to offer was some lollipops he picked up a few houses back. A few lollipops for a few lives._

_After that, he checked his radio._

"_This is Predator 4-3. Actual is down. Everyone else is down. Be advised, all houses in my sector are clear, I say again, houses clear. No need to check them anymore."_

_With that, he left the room._

_And Peter heard sobbing behind him as he exited._

* * *

"Oh my God…" Natalia gasped, taking her cigarette out and covering her mouth.

"Yeah… everyone who enjoys taking the lives of the innocent… NEED TO FUCKING DIE!" Peter screamed, choking back tears.

Natalia took his hand for reassurance.

"That's why we're here. We'll get back at him. The bastard who started all of this," she assured.

* * *

Frost tried to turn his helmet light on, only to remember that his battery was shot out.

"Go figure," he sighed.

"We need to minimize our signature. One light source only," Sandman said.

Sabre turned on his own helmet light, and Frost rolled his eyes, continuing through the tunnels.

"Hey, Frost?" Jenna's voice echoed from behind him. "I can't see shit, I keep bumping into things… a bit of help here?"

He reached out and found her hand.

"Let's go," he murmured, holding her wrist.

Jenna blushed, and she was glad it was too dark to see. This was the exact same way he held her arm when he was pulling her out of that terrorist safehouse…

She felt her heart pounding in her chest.

"Settle down behind those B-cups," she whispered to herself.

Grinch heard from behind, and snickered.

"More like A-cups, Hook."

"You. Shut the fuck up," Frost scolded. "And dumb shit, calm down."

Jenna felt a sharp, sudden sting in her arm and remembered what she did the day before. Frost's hand shifted to that spot, and it hurt like hell.

"Smells like shit down here," Grinch complained.

"Yeah. But at least it won't kill you," Sandman sarcastically replied.

"Truck's been here, I can tell."

"Shut up."

"Where's the rest of the GIGN?" Jenna wondered, withdrawing her arm from Frost's hand. She felt her sleeve getting warm and a bit sticky… her cuts were opened up again.

"A chemical strike hit our barracks at Satory last night. Most of my men died within minutes," Sabre solemnly responded.

"A friend of mine was at Satory," Sandman sighed.

"Je suis désolé... this is why Volk must pay for what he's done."

"He will. I'll see to that," Grinch said through gritted teeth.

They opened up a door to a corridor filled with human remains. Jenna grimaced at the stench, seeing the outlines of bones inside.

"Bienvenue. Welcome."

"Stay sharp."

They stepped through cautiously, trying not to rattle the bones beneath their feet.

One by one, each operator ducked under a metal bar… Jenna wasn't paying attention, and knocked her head against it, falling backwards.

She landed staring straight into the eyes of a skull, which a rat made its home in.

"Shit!" she snapped, taking her knife out and plunging it through, killing the rodent.

She got up and flipped off both the cracked skull and the bar that she hit her head on.

"Smooth, Hook," Sandman commented.

"How many bodies you think are buried down here?" Grinch whistled, seeing a giant pillar of skulls in the center of the room. Even more skeletons lined the walls, their empty sockets staring at the men whose job it was to find them friends.

"Don't know. Let's make sure we don't join them."

Jenna piped up from behind, "I promise you won't."

When they moved through a hallway, a metal gate collapsed onto Sabre, a Russian on the other side. Frost promptly dropped him and a tango up ahead.

"Clear."

"They're at the end of the hall!"

They moved up to the end of the path, where a doorway was. A familiar cylinder rolled through.

"FLASHBANG!" Grinch announced.

The device detonated, leaving the entire team stunned as their target fled. Jenna found herself suddenly tackled against a wall, hearing gunfire through the ringing. When everything cleared up, she found Frost pressing her against the wall, and someone running and spraying bullets at them.

"We got a runner! It's Volk!" Grinch yelled.

Frost let go of Jenna, took out an enemy behind and overturned table, and started running after the man. Jenna pursued him in kind.

"Overlord! We got a positive ID on the HVI! We're in hot pursuit!" Sandman radioed.

"Roger 0-1. Remember we need Volk captured alive. He holds the only actionable intel on Makarov."

Frost stepped to the side, clearing Russians behind cover while Jenna charged straight up the stairs to Volk. She fired occasional potshots, frustrated that he was getting away.

"Hey, you FUCKER!" she huffed. "Don't underestimate us!"

The team made it to the top and temporarily paused to take out some more enemies, right as their target was escaping up the ladder.

They went up, having to go through up another set of stairs and through a hallway.

"Hey, Hook, you good?" Grinch asked.

"All good, for once I ain't tired!"

Frost rounded a corner and saw Volk stepping into a car.

"He's getting in the gray sedan!"

"On it."

He knelt and flawlessly placed the front tire right in his sights, and fired. Somehow, he didn't hit the tire, though.

"Damn it!" he cursed in irritation. "How the hell did _I _miss?"

"Get in the blue van! Move!"

"You go! I'll cover you!"

At that, Sabre took out all of the tangos surrounding the van while the Delta operators sprinted to get to it.

Frost took a MK48 and hopped into the shotgun seat. He punched out the windows, Grinch sliding into the driver's seat, Sandman and Hook in the back.

"Let's hope you got a license!" Jenna called from the back.

"Shut up!"

Frost set the bipod down on the dashboard, firing a few bursts. The van flew forwards the fastest it could go, right when two Russian vehicles pulled into place as a roadblock. The van smashed straight through, running over a soldier and hitting another, who tumbled over the hood, fell off, and had his skull crushed into pieces by the rear wheels.

"Holy-"

Sandman kicked the rear doors open, pointing at something out there.

"Enemy tank coming out of the alley!"

Jenna saw a T-72 come up right there, the gunner on top shredding the van to bits.

"Come on, make the shot, Hook!"

Everything felt like slow motion, just then. The angered face of the machinegunner barely exposed itself from behind the gun itself. Sandman saw Hook in her most determined, concentrated face ever since the time she ran the Gauntlet.

_Show them you can actually do shit._

Her finger wrapped around the trigger and squeezed it.

The propellant of the 5.56 NATO cartridge burned, launching the FMJ projectile on the end through the rifle, gaining its spin from the rifled barrel. As it span out of the muzzle, the shell casing flipped out the ejection port, flying out the back of the van. The bullet continued its course, slicing through the air, and into the neck of the tank commander.

The tank's main gun fired, but not before the van dived down a set of stairs. The shell whistled above and past the van.

The vehicle turned right and crashed into something, coming to a stop. An enemy attempted to enter the van. Sandman fired and missed, but Jenna punched him with her trench knife and stabbed him with it. She finished off by kicking the body out once the van was moving again.

Multiple GAZ-2975s were in pursuit, and the two soldiers in the back constantly having to shoot for their gunners. They were running low on ammo at this point, due to the constant exchange of fire.

"Hind, incoming!"

A chopper pulled up behind them, its rotors beating the air as it tried to get a good bead on the blue vehicle. Its rounds smacked the pavement right behind the van, pelting Jenna with pieces of asphalt, and almost hitting her with shrapnel.

"I don't like this!"

"Taking a shortcut."

The van went straight into a building's corridor, and the chopper's cannon fired through the ceilings, barely hitting them.

"Yikes, how bad do they wanna kill us!?"

Finally, they were on the 6 o'clock of Volk's car. Frost decided to make up for his earlier miss.

He fired a single, well-placed shot into the rear tire, causing the car to lose control and veer into a building. It turned and smashed through another store window, then another. The van violently collided with the side, deploying the side airbags and throwing shattered glass everywhere. Enemies inside tried to hit Grinch through the windshield, but with three shots, Frost killed three gunmen.

"Rabbit vehicle is down! Get out!"

Jenna leapt out the back and pulled Volk out the window, fiery-eyed and just short of killing him on the spot. She punched him about twice with her glove knuckles and turned him over to Sandman.

"C'mere, asshole!" Sandman snapped, pulling him onto the hood and slamming his body for good measure.

"This is Metal 0-1! Jackpot! Volk secure. Aren't you, you son of a bitch."

Jenna grinned and spat into Volk's face, saluting him with her middle finger.

"How's that, bitch? Eat shit."

Overlord didn't see any of this, and continued in his usual monotone.

"Bring him in for interrogation. We'll extract any intel he has on Makarov."

"With pleasure."

* * *

Natalia checked her watch absentmindedly, only doing it for the heck of it. Not because she cared what time it was.

"Hey. Petrova."

She lifted her head from her hand and looked in the direction of the voice. Peter.

"When do you think this goddamn war's gonna end?"

She tried to think about it, but couldn't come up with any scenarios. She felt like it would end up being perpetual warfare at this point.

"Does it matter?" she muttered. "It doesn't mean jack shit if this war ends or not. Because there's always going to be another one. People who don't deserve to die will die just as always. And people like us are going to go out and kill others like always. What's the fucking point?"

Koslov heard the conversation and joined in with his own philosophy.

"Want to know why it matters? Because if there aren't people, Americans, Russians, Brits, whatever – to stop evil men like Makarov, then who will? No matter which side, somebody will step up to rid the world of monsters. Even if more spring up, those who have the balls will do it anyway. Here's the difference. We're the current generation, but we just might be the last, unlike every single one before us. Because if Makarov gets the nuke launch codes he wants, that's the end of it."

Natalia pondered on that.

_The last generation of warriors._

She didn't want to go down in history as the generation who couldn't stop the will of a single man from bringing the world to its knees. To ending life on the planet. In the grand scale of things, humanity's a blink. Yet, in a miniscule fraction of that short time, they managed to learn how to put the sun's power in metal cases and break it over the earth, how to extinguish billions of years' worth of life's progress. All because one man wished harm upon others.

She spent the war in a state of apathy, no longer caring whether a mission went well or not.

For once, it would actually matter.

* * *

**AAAAAAND BOOM**

**It's out! The continuation of the fun since last chapter. Jenna's personality has taken a turn for the worse, Natalia's realized why she's fighting. Ships have been damaged for Jenna, one or two might be on the horizon for Natalia… looks like someone's finally caught a break, and someone else has run into more sadness.**

**I couldn't really write Peter's little story without feeling really damn emo about it. It's sad because that's more or less what canonically happened in the MWverse, Russian forces slaughtering civvies in droves. If you listen to the MW2 radio transmissions, for example, you hear things about T-72s blowing up buildings full of innocent people and A-10s failing to stop it. Evacuation sites overrun, evac choppers knocked out of the sky by the dozens, stuff like that. And proportionately to the 243 (CoDwiki) civilians killed in **_**No Russian**_**, it's unfair to the Americans.**

**Bit of math. In the briefing before the level Hornet's Nest in MW2, Ghost makes a quip about 1000 dead Americans for every dead Russian in the airport attack. 2,430 American civilians supposedly, but this is taking Ghost's words literally. Clearly, many many many more people would have died in the supposed invasion than just 2,340. Disproportionate retribution, to say the least. And that's assuming that's how many are dead.**

**Whoops, ranting over fictionally dead fictional people fictionally killed in a fictional war XD**

**Still feelsy to write, just sayin'.**

**Yeah, that was a reference to **_**The Cask of Amontillado **_**back there.**

**(Deal with it Zoerren.)**

**Possible BF3 reference when Jenna knifes/flips off the rat in the catacombs.**

**If you've seen the picture caption I referenced in the beginning about "ETA: 2 MINUTES," kudos to you.**

**DuFontaine is a reference to a CoD3 character. There was a French Resistance member named Isabelle DuFontaine, who also dies by explosion. But CoD3 DuFontaine didn't have a badass moment to calmly deadpan "Ah. Fuck."**

**"Settle down behind those B/A cups" is also a shout-out. This time to a certain anime/manga character who inspired elements of Jenna's physical appearance and tendency of being a not-so-great soldier who's the first female of an elite group. Iku Kasahara, _Toshokan Sensou _if you're wondering. That line was somewhere in the manga.**

**For once, something involving the female gender in this fic makes sense. I've heard the GIGN has somewhere around 9 female operators or so, that's probably the only realistic thing in this fic so far.**

**All right, so for the record, I like to poke fun at the French for the whole "surrendering" joke. In reality though, a lot of them are as badass as they get. Like the Foreign Legion. Or in this case, the GIGN, who are pretty awesome in their own right. I feel bad for killing some of them in such mean ways now.**

**I'm putting this up because I was a bit disappointed with last chap's turnout, so I'm hoping this might do something.**

**Hope you enjoyed. Like usual, 5TORM OUT!**


	24. Simpler Times

**Okay. So I'm running into a few bumps for the next chapter, and it's proving a bit troublesome to work with. Not only that, I got sick for a good week or two, so dragging myself through that was difficult.**

**Thing is, I still felt like writing something. So until then, have this filler. Just a flashback to our favorite medic's days back in the regular army. Plus, we get to learn more about that one person who even convinced her to join up in the first place.**

**Plus, a look into a life-changing day for everyone's favorite Russian. Not only does she receive some significant news, but she has kind of a run-in with the darker side of town.**

**A bit of slash here, F/F. Nothing that bad, though.**

**Dear guests who keep telling me to update: I will ask nicely, just this once. Don't do that. It puts pressure on authors, who aren't necessarily obligated to update **_**for you. **_**I write this fic for my own enjoyment. When I found out it makes people happy to read my work, it motivated me to create something for them to enjoy, too. But pestering me to update makes me want to it do less.**

**WOOT, 10,000 VIEWS BROKEN ON THIS FIC!**

**But, uh, yeah. So here you go, **_**enjoy.**_

* * *

"Moore. Moore. Wake up."

_Infidel_

_August 2014  
_

_Pvt. Jenna Moore_

_3__rd__ Infantry Division_

_Afghanistan_

"Huh?"

Suddenly, Jenna felt herself nearly fall straight out of the Humvee she was in, if not for the seatbelt. Someone opened the door she was leaning her head against for a nap.

"Wake up, dream warrior," someone chuckled.

She pulled her upper body back into the Humvee and scowled, but she couldn't stay mad at the guy who did it.

Her squad leader stood outside with a giant grin plastered on his face, a very friendly guy who actually volunteered to put up with her. Usually the medic in a platoon stays with the platoon command, but she was so troublesome that no one was willing to handle her.

Staff Sergeant Hector Eden. Somewhere in his early thirties, although he didn't really look like it. Full of energy and was really, really into his job. He was one of the few bastards around these parts Jenna didn't hate with a burning passion.

"I had a dream… drinking a vanilla milkshake," Jenna yawned. "Does that mean anything?"

She released the seatbelt and jumped out onto the dirt streets. Instantly, she felt the intense sun beating down on her head, turning her helmet into an oven.

"Geez, it's hot as heck out here, man!" another voice boomed from behind, its owner clapping a hand over Jenna's shoulder.

The man standing behind was their SAW gunner, Specialist Owen Philips. He seemed intimidating as hell, with a large frame and bulging dark arms exposed by his shirt, which he rolled the sleeves on against-regs. But he was actually one of the nicest fellows one could meet. The entire platoon was sure he hadn't said a single cuss word in his entire life.

"All right, guys. Remember, this is a hearts-and-minds thing we're kinda going for. So for the love of God, don't swing your M4s around like an idiot. Ichinose… talkin' to you."

Another guy came in from the other side of the Humvee. His steps were light, and he treaded somewhat absentmindedly. He smiled softly and took off his sunglasses, revealing large eyes that still managed to indicate his Japanese descent.

"Hey, Itchy!" Jenna snapped, quickly rushing over to the man.

She took his index finger and moved it from its spot on the trigger to its proper place.

"This is why we call you Itchy. You and your itchy trigger finger."

The rest of the squad showed up, exiting their respective Humvees and gathering around. Eden smacked the hood of the lead Humvee and yelled into the window.

"Yo, Ellis! We're good! You guys can roll out now!"

The driver nodded and drove off, followed by the rest of the vehicles. US forces were constantly around to intimidate the locals, evidenced by the menacing sound of engines dwindling as the convoy left. A single truck stayed behind, filled with supplies to give out to the locals.

"Now, guys!" Eden yelled, quieting down his squad. "I know none of us really feel like being in this goddamned heat."

Murmurs of agreement.

"But, you gotta remember why we're even here. We're reminding the civvies that we ain't assholes! That's exactly why all of you who had morale patches, I confiscated 'em."

Before the ride, anyone with any offensive patches had to give them up. It wasn't usually accepted to wear morale patches of any kind, but Eden was nice enough to let it slide. But they definitely had to ditch the ones that said stuff like "infidel" and "pork-eating crusader."

"You all know what to do. Moore, Steller. You'll be treating all the civvies who come to you and need some kind of medical help. Yes, you'll have a translator, don't worry."

Jenna's eyes darted around. Where was Steller anyway?

Steller was the last name of her closest friend in this dump, Brooke. Now, she met Brooke back in high school, and she was the first person to really get past Jenna's wall of depression. Her reputation as an insane delinquent made her even harder to approach. But Brooke was willing to try and get to know her.

What she didn't know in the beginning was that Brooke had a crush on her. Brooke herself barely understood. Until then she was sure she was straight, but something about Jenna made her fall for her.

Soon enough, Jenna opened up. At the end of senior year, with some encouragement, she decided to enlist. Brooke went in right alongside, hoping to follow her crush the entire way.

At this point, Jenna was starting to like Brooke back. She never paid much mind to her own identity, but the second Brooke first started talking to her, Jenna realized she might have been bi.

"Patrolling Afghanistan almost makes you wish for a nuclear winter," Brooke giggled, walking over to Jenna as Eden continued his briefing.

"I'm not into the job, either," Jenna sighed. "I'd rather be spitting in the 2LT's coffee or something instead of having to see these civvies."

"Aww, come on! You know you secretly love playing with the kids! Come on, tour's barely halfway done, learn to enjoy yourself."

"Yeah. But I'm gonna be giving meds and stuff, not anything fun. Maybe I'll sneak off and show the kids what a porn mag is or something."

"No!"

"Why not?"

Jenna turned to see Brooke gazing into her eyes. Brooke was obviously staring to tear up. Goddamn puppy eyes… bitch was lucky that it was forbidden to ever make her cry.

"Fine. I'll do what I'm supposed to be doing. Happy?"

Brooke squeezed her tightly. Jenna looked around, seeing the entire squad staring at them. All of them obviously turned on by the spectacle. Hell, they seemed like they were about to nosebleed.

"YOU PERVERTS!"

* * *

Soon enough, everyone was out and about doing their thing at the village center. Handing out water bottles, chatting with the elders, usual stuff like that.

"Okay… and there you go! Wait, no, don't cry, please!"

Jenna couldn't help but smile seeing Brooke kiss the spot where she vaccinated a little kid after she tried in vain to stop her from bursting into tears.

"There you go, Omar," Jenna mumbled, carefully cleaning a child's knee abrasion and deftly bandaging it.

She turned to who was presumably his mother, speaking and letting the translator deal with the rest.

"Yup. Just make sure he doesn't do any sliding around on his knees anymore, at least not 'til it's healed."

She then brought her attention back to the kid and gave him a grin.

"You're always hurting yourself, man. One more time, and Doc's not gonna give you anymore lollipops. Got it?"

She held out a handful of Dum-Dums, and little Omar accepted.

"Sorry, no Tootsie Pops this time… the people who send candy over are being really cheap."

The young boy nodded and retreated back to the girl Brooke treated, presumably his friends. The two exchanged words before the girl started giggling and Omar started to look slightly flustered.

The girl turned towards Jenna and said something quickly before her friend could stop her.

The translator let out a hearty chuckle before passing on what she had said to Jenna.

"She said that Omar thinks you're both very pretty, and that he loves the kind way you treat him."

"Aww, come over here, give Doc a hug…"

SSgt. Eden heard from where he was showing a couple of teens his M4.

"Moore, you're not a Navy Corpsman or something! Stop calling yourself _Doc_!"

Right when the boy came into her arms, a nearby truck exploded violently, sending a nearby soldier flying. Simultaneously, AK gunfire erupted from the tops of buildings, sending everyone into a frenzy for cover.

Itchy immediately opened up, buying a bit of time for Philips to deploy his M249 and start expending brass. Once Philips started putting rounds out, Ichinose quickly maneuvered to cover, already having to reload.

"SHIT! Brooke, move the kids! Philips, keep the '249 singing for me!" Jenna yelled, picking up her piece and dashing to the injured soldier the fastest she could with her armor on.

Brooke nodded, shielding the two with her body and drawing her M9.

"Cover your ears, okay?"

She snapped off a few rounds, taking them into a nearby building where civilians were hiding.

Jenna made it safely to the downed soldier, but she gasped in shock when she found who it was.

"Give 'em hell, boys…" Eden weakly coughed.

"Eden's down, guys!" Jenna announced, yanking on his plate carrier's drag handle and pulling him behind the nearest solid object. "Sergeant, do you feel anything?"

"Can't feel jack shit."

The medic fumbled around for the quick release pull, ripping the pieces of the vest off and tossing them aside.

_I don't see any external injuries… damn, he's probably got internal bleeding from the trauma!_

Pieces of the concrete barrier the two were behind were breaking off and scattering everywhere, shattering even more.

"Cheap ass Hadji cement! You don't mind if I borrow your '203, do you, Sergeant?"

"Sure thing, Moore. Just… don't let me catch you saying that slur again."

Jenna readied the grenade launcher, making sure a round was in before popping up.

A deadly cocktail of emotions was bubbling in her chest, so much she felt like screaming something at the enemy before unleashing a nice little package of fun at them.

This iterated itself in speech as "EAT SHIT, BITCH!"

The entire squadron was pinned, and their location was probably the worst place to be. Luckily, the enemy was only bunched up on one side, but they would start to flank soon.

"H-hey! I see them! Building way down the street! Someone get the Gustaf!"

"Who's closest to it?"

"Steller!"

"Steller!? Come on, haul ass! Get the goddamn M3 already!"

Jenna looked back at the building Brooke was holed up in. A steady stream of bullets were peppering the wall, tiny puffs of dust flying out each time it was impacted.

Brooke was intent on protecting the civilians, plus, she wouldn't have been strong enough to properly fire the launcher.

"Damn it… Brooke! Take Eden! I got the civvies! Itchy, cover!"

"Got it! Suppressing!"

Jenna switched out with Brooke, giving her a smile as they passed. Once Jenna made sure she was safe, she picked up the RAWS and threw herself behind another barrier.

"Moore!"

She looked in the direction of the voice, seeing Philips actually looking distressed for once.

"Listen, I'mma open fire and draw a bit of attention my way. When that happens, let 'er rip!"

"Got it!"

Jenna unclipped the strap of her helmet, letting it drop to the ground. Her hair was dripping wet from a combination of the heat and the intensity of the situation they were in. She waited for the first shot, focusing for just that one sound. Time felt slowed down, and it felt like a whole minute until the gunner loaded a new belt and locked it in.

"NOW!"

The medic stood up, aiming the launcher straight at the target, which was right in her line of sight. This, however, meant she was in _their _line of sight.

She let loose the HEDP round before dropping again, not wanting to get hit at all. She wouldn't have been able to see the projectile slam into the building and detonate, bringing it crumbling to the ground.

A torrent of lead was pounding the barrier she was behind to pieces. A loose piece of shrapnel flew by and slid across her shoulder, leaving a burning cut.

Jenna let out a cry of pain, instinctively clutching her arm as the searing hot sensation rocketed through her shoulder.

"This is Rebel 1-2, are any air support assets in this sector!? Over!"

"Roger that 1-2, this is Gryphon 2-3, we are available to assist."

"We could really use a five-hundred pound JDAM just north of our position, 2-3!"

"Copy that, 1-2. Be advised, this will be danger close, over."

"Ah, to hell with it, 2-3. You are cleared hot, I say again, cleared hot!"

"Roger that, 1-2. ETA twenty seconds."

Twenty seconds took way too long.

In the airspace above their heads, an A-10 Thunderbolt II positioned itself to launch the 500-pound GBU-38/B Joint Direct Attack Munition, essentially a tricked-out Mk.82 dumb bomb.

The bomb struck the target with precision; the shockwave could be felt from where the Americans were dug in. A cloud of dust billowed into the sky, and the chatter of hostile fire dwindled, signaling an enemy retreat.

"Yeah, how was that, assholes?" Eden grinned, spitting blood. "Steller, you can go. I'm better than ever."

Brooke hesitated, but she couldn't control herself any longer. She immediately rushed to the building where Jenna was, extremely concerned for her.

"We clear?" Jenna called from inside.

"Yeah. The kids?"

"Scared, but fine."

Jenna slowly exited, inspecting her surroundings to make sure everyone really was gone.

Brooke trembled, this having been the first time she was in such a dangerous situation. She didn't have to think twice before clinging to Jenna, tears slowly leaking from her eyes.

"Shh… everything's all right."

"B-but, Jenna! Eden!"

Jenna sharply gasped. She started towards her downed squad leader, who was still leaning up against the barrier.

"Moore, I told you, I'm fine!" Eden insisted as the medic got down on her knees in front of him, trying to inspect him for injuries again.

He calmly reached his hand out to pat her head, ruffling her chestnut hair.

"You can calm down. All right?"

Everyone was gathering around at this point as Jenna desperately tried to save him.

"Hold this, Itchy," she ordered, handing an IV bag to Ichinose to hold up.

Eden's breathing became more and more of a struggle as he tried to stay awake.

"Sergeant, you bastard! Don't do this!"

"Shut up, Moore. You're ruining… my… moment."

Uncontrollable sobs began to pull at Jenna's chest when her squad leader stopped breathing. This was the first time someone died under her supervision, when she was trying to keep them alive.

_Never again… I can never let this happen again… Moore, you're a shit medic!_

A sensation in her hand interrupted her thoughts, as she followed the arm to its owner.

Brooke had taken Jenna's hand, and was kneeling next to her.

"Don't take it too hard, all right? We'll get those…" she choked.

"Those motherfucking bastard pieces of shit," Philips growled, coming up behind the two. "We'll kill every single last one of them."

"I promise, we will," Ichinose added. "So what now, guys?"

"How about we bomb this dump to hell and back?" a soldier suggested.

"There's civvies here!"

"So? We also got lots of Johnny Jihads everywhere!"

Everyone began to argue until engines began to thunder into the town again.

A convoy of Strykers and Humvees was rolling in. Philips pounded on the hood of the lead vehicle.

"What the hell are you guys doing here?"

"Heard y'all were pinned! Where'd the bad guys go?"

"Pussied out after we dropped a 500-pounder on their asses. We have one man KIA, probably a hella lot more injured. Civvies hiding everywhere."

Troops poured out of the IFVs, moving into the alleyways of the village.

"How about this, pal? Tell your sarge we'll haul you back to the FOB, get everyone on board in ten mikes!"

Ten minutes later, Jenna found herself still clutching Brooke's hand as the two sat together in a Stryker.

"You think we're coming back to this place?"

"No, not after this."

"I'm gonna miss the kids."

"Yeah. Me too."

* * *

Natalia swung the door open to her tiny apartment, shuffling in, still panting a bit from her daily run. She checked her watch, it was about 7:30 or so.

She always lived quite a routine life, even before being drafted into the military. Even things out of her control would always happen. For example, that day, she got the usual catcalls from horny guys who would see her jog by.

"I don't get it," she mumbled to herself, looking in the mirror.

She wasn't wearing anything particularly special. The weather was quite chilly, so she had on a simple track jacket, running pants, and sneakers, all in black. She wasn't particularly sure why guys chose to hit on her in the first place.

She longed for change. Something new to happen. Life was boring as hell, between the military and her uneventful domestic life.

Today would be that day, she just wouldn't know it.

She turned on her shower and waited for a bit for the water to warm up. Shitty plumbing for a shitty apartment.

Natalia wasn't very affluent at all, so of course she'd have a run-down living space. She took pride in the fact that she kept it clean, and that it looked presentable at the very least. Didn't stop the heating from failing every other month, or the guy upstairs constantly having prostitutes and keeping her up.

The young Russian let the water stream down her body, deep in thought about what was happening lately.

She was definitely glad to be out of training. She suffered so much torment at the hands of the men, constantly being sexually harassed. At one point, an "accident" happened where she was shoved out of a plane for jump training and nearly drowned in a frozen lake. Moreover, the guys were constantly making moves on her.

She still remained in contact with the few friends she made, at least.

Natalia stepped out of the shower and proceeded to freshen up. Like usual, she planned to blow her day out on the town. She made sure her outfit was cute enough, yet not to the point it seemed like she was actually trying to impress anyone. She was a very lonely person who felt that way for as long as she could even remember.

She had kind of a reputation for being not quite ladylike, sort of tomboyish. Bullshit. There were more tomboyish girls out there besides herself. So what if she was in the military?

Whatever it was, she still made an effort to be feminine. Deep down, she had a soft spot for that kind of thing. She was somewhat idealistic, and had an idea of what she wished life would be like.

She settled on a long-sleeved shirt (her striped VDV _telnyashka_, actually), a fleece jacket, skinny jeans, and boots. Typical dress of a Russian woman in her town around this time of year, yet still with a unique touch. She stared at herself in the mirror for half a minute, trying to adjust the white ribbon she tied off her hair with. She might have been trying a bit too hard, but she didn't quite have much to do with herself anyway.

"Why the hell not?" she sighed.

Natalia swung by a café she frequented often. She quickly downed her breakfast sandwich (thank god the army taught her how to quickly eat) but not at a speed it'd seem like she was pigging out. She headed to the market, a cup of cheap coffee in hand. She liked hers with as much sugar as she could have without ruining the effects of the caffeine.

She returned home, dropped off the food, and spent a couple of hours watching TV. Tensions were growing between the US and Russia lately, especially with the new Ultranationalist government and whatnot. Her CO assured that they wouldn't be going to war any time soon, but to stay alert nevertheless.

After a while though, one got bored of the same garbage. Natalia didn't own a computer, as she was never quite able to afford one. On top of that, the government controlled everything these days, and it was only a matter of time before she messed up. Completely overwhelmed by her boredom, she decided to head out yet again to blow her time doing something useless. Life really was boring.

"Who knows, Petrova. You might meet a guy worth your time for once."

As she shuffled aimlessly down the sidewalk, she bumped into a few of her friends from basic. Those same friends were there for that one time she kicked that guy Peter in the balls at a bar... good times.

She found herself being pulled into yet another tavern with them to hang out.

"Natalieeeee," one of them, Diana, whined. "Why don't you have a boyfriend yet? You're too pretty _not_ to have one."

Natalia blushed at the thought of even having a significant other. She was insanely awkward when it came to anything involving relationships at all. She was generally a clumsy person who had issues socializing, but at least the armed forces got rid of most of it.

"Well... you already know why I hate the douches in the military and all. I don't know why I don't have a boyfriend. Guys either are always trying to get in my pants, or they're turned off by the fact I'm not girly enough for them. Honestly, nobody is ever really nice to me."

"Ah, I see. Well, I don't think you can last long with your looks. I mean, I'm super jealous myself, to be honest."

"Well... Maybe I just need to find the right guy. I'm definitely open, but..."

Just then, a man noticed the two, particularly the cute blonde, and realized an opportunity.

"Excuse me, ladies," he interrupted. "I'm good friends with the owner of this place. I feel like it would be rude not to treat you two to drinks, huh?"

"Uh..." Natalia trailed off.

"Sure thing!"

"R-really? Excellent. How about I take you two to the VIP section. In the back."

There they found a table with multiple men playing cards and having a good time in general. Something about them made Natalia suspicious, but she shook off the thought.

"Care to join us, miss?" one of them offered, noticing her interest in the game.

Natalia never told anyone, but she was fond of card games, especially poker. Maybe this would be an opportunity to win a lot of money or something. She took a seat and inspected the cards she was dealt as they started over. Strange, they were completely starting over for two people.

"Miss..."

"Natalia."

"Your jacket, please?"

Natalia glanced around to see everyone stripping off their coats.

_Well... it all makes sense, now._

* * *

Natalia flashed a cocky smirk as every eye in the room focused on her.

She was surrounded by a whole bunch of guys (and one girl...) in their underwear, the only clothed person in the entire room.

"How the hell... is she even..."

All of the men were visually pissed off by the fact they couldn't manage to get Natalia to lose a single article of clothing besides her jacket. All of them really wanted to get a better view of her rack, which was actually kind of impressive.

"I've had enough of this bullshit."

"Cheating cunt..."

An angry man got up and forcefully shoved her into the wall. He reached down to grab her shirt, but Natalia pushed him off before he could do anything to her. The drunkard staggered backwards and collapsed over a chair, breaking its legs.

"You just fucked up real bad, bitch."

One of them produced a baseball bat. Another activated a switchblade.

_Whoops._

Natalia arose and slowly backed towards the door.

"N-Now, gentlemen, let's not complicate things," she urged, reaching into her bag and taking out two gloves, slipping them on.

They were a pair of tactical Mechanix M-Pact gloves, the fingers cut off. Excellent at protecting hands.

"Hm?" the bartender wondered, before seeing the sight. A woman backing away from a bunch of armed, naked men.

"She managed to beat them? Impressive..."

One drunken guy made the first swing with his bat, missing Natalia and smashing his weapon into the floor. The switchblade guy charged, and Natalia merely stepped to the side before disarming him and dislocating his shoulder. She held the knife in one hand, beckoning anyone else to attack. Another swung a stool at her, only to accidentally hit the baseball bat guy sneaking up from behind.

Next thing, everything became a full-blown bar fight.

Natalia grunted, suddenly feeling a knee to her gut, followed up by a hand colliding with her face. She staggered to the side, rubbing her cheek and spitting onto the floor.

"You've done it now, man!"

Seeing the bloodthirsty-looking blonde girl, knife in one hand, a determined glare, combined with her shirt, only then did they realize they were up against an elite soldier.

She promptly sliced her opponent's cheek in return for hers before kicking him into the counter.

She saw out of the corner of her eye Diana rushing out, saying, "I'll get the cops!"

"No need, they'll be too late!"

Natalia was the last one standing while the groans of her opponents were echoing through the room.

The lone bartender applauded her for besting them and rewarded her with a bottle of the finest, most expensive vodka he had in the inventory.

She managed to get out before the police arrived, luckily for herself. However, they wouldn't track her back to her apartment... unlike the people she fought, who just so happened to be associated with the criminal underworld.

Feeling slightly giddy from the exhilaration of a bar fight, Natalia celebrated by taking a shot or two of vodka. Slightly buzzed, she decided to work out once again. She slipped on a simple pastel yellow tank top and a pair of gray shorts and did the same routine, mostly military-based exercises like sit-ups and push-ups.

When that was over she took yet another shower to recharge a bit. When rubbing water and soap on her naked body got boring, she got out and slipped on her previous outfit to lounge around in. While she was preparing dinner, someone began to furiously pound on the door.

"Pardon me, just a moment!"

Harder knocking.

"One minute!"

Even harder knocking.

"Oh for fuck's sake-"

Natalia met face to face (more like face-to-chest) with three muscular men, all at least a foot taller than herself. All pissed.

"You little whore!"

"We're here to teach you a little lesson about crossing the wrong people."

"I'm afraid we won't be holding back, not even for a pretty little thing like you."

The Russian soldier sighed, reached to her side, and slid something off a nearby stand.

A service pistol she "tactically acquisitioned" from the armory, a loaded MP-443 Grach.

The man in the front immediately stepped back in surrender.

"No, she's probably just bluffing, no need to worry-"

"I assure you guys that a round is indeed chambered. And the magazine is at full capacity. I... highly recommend you fuck off before this gets messy. You have five seconds to get out of my sight."

_Five._

They hesitantly remained.

_Four._

Natalia pointed the gun at them.

_Three_.

They still wouldn't budge.

_Two_.

One of them began to shuffle away.

_One_.

Natalia's finger moved to the trigger.

The three ran for their lives as the insane lady emptied all 18 rounds of her magazine into the wall across from the door, the gunshots echoing through the hallways and the room.

She waited until she knew they were gone before collapsing in pain, pressing her palms to her ears.

"DAMN, THAT WAS LOUD AS HELL..." she announced over the ringing.

Natalia slammed the door shut and returned to her food, finishing up cooking it. Before she could eat, she suddenly received a doorbell. At least it was probably someone being polite this time.

"..._PETER_!?"

_Dammit, I wish I hadn't wasted all the ammo_.

"I couldn't help but notice the holes in the wall, Natalie."

"Bunch of thugs got their panties in a bunch. Anyway, need something?"

The man entered without being welcomed in, headed straight for her.

"Wh-what are you doing in my apartment?"

"Listen, this is very, very important. Turn on the news."

Natalia reluctantly hit the power button, and there it was, on every channel.

A terrorist attack led by the notorious Vladimir Makarov occurred at Zakhaev International Airport earlier that day. Law enforcement discovered the corpse of a dead terrorist, who was found to be an agent of the United States' CIA.

Now, President Boris Vorshevsky was addressing the entire nation.

_Russia was at war._

"We are going to be deploying first thing tomorrow," Peter muttered.

"Seriously? Where?"

"We are going to invade the US, Natalie."

* * *

**There's your update. Woo.**

**As you can see, even more Battlefield references everywhere. Fallout: New Vegas make me wish for a nuclear winter... **

** Bonus (blatant) shout-out to Clannad, too, with Ichinose's character. He's probably related to Kotomi Ichinose. Sure, she isn't a main heroine (in the anime at least, the VN yes), but she's waifu-tier. Our Ichinose (as Jenna calls him, Itchy) is just as absent-minded. Dunno why they trusted him with a gun. Or why I was trusted with this story. God I'm a weeb sometimes.**

**I kinda just noticed this. I always write the US side with more humor, and the Russian side is always serious business.**

**Shout-out to longtime fan and best friend Zoerren for help with Natalia's standard routine.**

**Yeah, that was a weird day for her in general. Even before the war she still kicked names and took ass. **

**Wait.**

**Oh right! Go check out my new fic, **_**Winter Sky.**_** Has nothing to do with winter or skies. It's RLW-flavored with a twist: The **_**guy **_**is the protagonist, and the girl isn't even a shooter! Plus, it is in the RLW universe, and a certain organization will play an important role in the spinoff I'm making when this is over.**

**In other news, recently, women started taking Ranger School. Some already passed RASP, which someone who is going into a Ranger unit (under the rank of Sergeant I think) must take. After they reach that rank, though, they have to go to Ranger School. As long as they don't lower standards, I'm all for it. Lead the way, ladies! And don't be a Jenna...**

**Anyway, next time we will get to be back in the action, and the plot will actually continue.**

**5TORM OUT!**


	25. Cold as Ice

**Things are working out a bit slowly as far as RLW and Winter Sky are going, but I'm going to update anyway with a bit of a thing involving Frost I wasn't sure how to work into the story.**

**Plus, things got even **_**harder **_**in life than they already were, and I've almost hit the bottom as far as my depression's going. Nothing's improving, and I don't see the suffering ending anytime soon. Not going to let that screw up my writing, though.**

**Yeah, Frosty's backstory. I should probably make one for Ramirez sometime, but it might be difficult. I imagine Ramirez as a pretty normal everyday American without much of a tragic story. Frost on the other hand doesn't have it very well.**

**If you paid close attention, I mentioned once through Derek's inner thoughts that he had a sister, and something happened to her. Hella vague, I know.**

**By the way, no one in the story actually knows about any of this yet, at least as far as pre-military life went. So the other characters won't be referencing this at all save Frost himself. I am thinking that sooner or later he will reveal it to someone close to him, though.**

**So I guess as a last resort to tell you guys I'm not dead, I'm putting this out as filler. I feel bad because filler sucks ass.**

**Warning to those who are uncomfortable with things such as sexual assault and child abuse, be warned.**

**We'll get back to the plot soon! I promise!**

* * *

_"Sweet as sugar, cold as ice. Hurt me once, I'll kill you twice."_

_Where have I heard that?_

Sergeant Derek "Frost" Westbrook wasn't very much known for being open about his past. In fact, no one knew much about what kind of person he was before the Army, save a really embarrassing hairstyle.

It was like that for a reason. He refused to tell anyone, even those closest to him. The past would be better off erased, at least his own.

As a kid, little Derek didn't have a single friend, much less a childhood. He did have an abusive Pops he refused to call a father, and a younger sister who was the one thing he could hold onto. He never met his mother once, and it was probably because she was dead or got away before Pops could do anything about it.

He wasn't even sure if his real name was Westbrook. He resented the title, it being from his father in the first place. It was the only semblance of an identity he could really have, though.

More often than not, Pops would barge into the apartment in a fit of drunken stupor and hit whatever he could get his hands on. In the rare event Derek or his sister Mia got their hands on any kind of toy, it lasted maybe a few hours tops before being destroyed.

And of course, he'd hit his kids too. He didn't bother with which kid, just whichever entered his sight first. His weapon of choice was an old Louisville Slugger, which appeared one day after Derek arrived home from school sometime around 4th grade.

He would never forget the sensation of blunt force rippling through his head after a sloppy swing. Had Pops put full force into it, he'd be dead.

The verbal abuse he got was equally as damaging. Derek honestly came to believe he was worthless. He didn't want his sister to experience any of it, so he always made sure to take the hits for her. He sacrificed himself so that she wouldn't have to go through what he did.

At one point in middle school, he met a bunch of asshole kids, all headed down the road to prison. But for some strange reason, he fit in. So he stuck with them. Why not, there wasn't much left for him anyway. He thought scene hair was cool, so he changed his hair color from the white-blond he always had to a cold, _frost_y blue. It didn't last long, but for the first time, he was accepted into some kind of community.

Once Derek was about seventeen, he decided he'd had enough. He took sixteen-year-old Mia's hand, ran, and never looked back. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, driven more by desperation than anything else.

The two found themselves homeless. But it wasn't nearly as bad as the daily abuse they were enduring.

They both pledged that they would never turn to crime to get what they needed, no matter what. Robbery, burglary, prostitution, assault and battery, murder – none of it, even if they were down to the last penny.

Instead, they used their heads. Frost picked up a menial job at a gun store, employed by some old WWII vet by the name of Bill Taylor who didn't give a damn that hiring a 17-year-old was probably illegal. It worked reasonably well. As for a place to live, there was a conveniently abandoned flat they occupied.

Just because Derek and his sister didn't participate in crime, didn't mean other people didn't.

A fateful night, while walking home, the siblings were ambushed and outnumbered by a good amount of older men. Now, Derek always defended his sister no matter what, but he was always a bad fighter. He had no choice here but to deal with it, especially because some of the guys were armed.

He felt a gun pressed against the back of his head as he was forced to watch them drag her into a back alley and… have their way with her. He couldn't do a single thing as he watched the motherfucker assert his domination, her pained screams as she was shamefully deflowered.

That was the last time he ever saw her. The men took her off, probably to sell her into the sex slavery industry. And the boy was left behind to die, having been stripped of all the possessions he had left.

He reported this at school first thing, but he went to the most ghetto school in the entire United States. They didn't care at all, nor could they help, anyway.

At first, Derek vowed revenge. He started to practice his shooting, honing his skills every opportunity he got at his workplace. The old man Bill had some pointers for him, too. Sometimes he'd ramble about how when he was Derek's age, he was storming Pointe Du Hoc at Normandy with the Rangers. He allowed the 17-year-old to work at his store, and fire the weapons, but he drew the line at actually giving him a weapon. On top of that, Derek came to realize that he wouldn't be able to find the exact assholes who took his sister, nor take them all on.

That's when the boy entered into a constant search for love. The only love he ever got was from Mia, and he craved it so badly. With her gone, no one in the entire world would care for him anymore. He needed someone to protect, someone who could be his and no one else's. He must have picked up the mentality of being a domineering person from Pops. But he swore to himself that he would never be nearly as abusive as _he_ was.

It was useless. He wasn't anyone special at all.

Of course, he didn't have any idea what to do anymore. That is, until a special table was set up on campus…

Two men, obviously not desiring to be there, were sitting at that table. They donned uniforms anyone could recognize, even someone like Derek. They were from the United States Army, and were part of a recruiting campaign there. After some big event in 2011, enlistment levels were at an all-time low.

Derek already knew what his destiny would be from that moment. As soon as all of it was over, he enlisted in the Army as a last-ditch attempt to take his life back. He shot for special operations, having been told that the regulations were being slightly relaxed.

What was the point of being a regular grunt? Westbrook didn't want to be just another pawn thrown at an enemy. No. he wanted to be useful for once in his entire life. The grand stories of Bill's time in the Army just might have rubbed off on him.

Applying for Delta Force was a long, difficult road. But Westbrook picked up a sense of determination after all these years, and he refused to quit. He became the best marksman in his class, having found a talent for it after so much practice. Something about shooting made him continue to do it until he was almost-perfect. If he couldn't do that well in the other departments, marksmanship would be the one.

He failed.

He never learned any of this knowledge, however. The brass decided that after seeing how hard this kid worked, he might be worth investing in. These days, many generals were much more lax on holding regulations. Many joined to further their agendas.

So it was kept under wraps, and the youngest member to ever join 1st SFOD-Delta was assigned to a team.

He wasn't immediately trusting of them. He didn't trust anyone. He always kept a demeanor of being cold, and he was immediately dubbed "Frost." This was furthered by his teammates unearthing his ancient Facebook page and discovering his pictures from eighth grade.

Frost's boss, Sandman, was a force to be reckoned with. A professional veteran with more than a decade of work under his belt, any missions Team Metal performed under Sandman's leadership never failed.

Truck was a friendly guy, always having an air of politeness surrounding him. He was a gentleman who refused to have any contempt for even the men he fought. At the same time, he was deadly and destructive, racking up a massive killcount.

Grinch came across as kind of a douche. Frost quickly learned that it wasn't what he was really like, and that he always had good intentions. He was the designated marksman, managing to outshoot Frost in the DMR department. Grinch warmed up to Frost quickly, "melting" his attitude and making a close friend.

Doc was always there for him. Their medic didn't always go out on missions, but when he did, he proved himself to be a valuable asset, being quite a decent shooter on his own. And rumor had it that every team he was assigned to, not a single operator died while under his care.

Frost found that these were the guys he could trust, the only people he believed in. Around them, he wasn't the stoic kid everyone else saw. He was one of them.

But the job also revealed his darker side, one that didn't really have a chance to show until then.

Frost realized that he was quite sadistic.

He took joy in interrogating his prisoners, reveling in the pain he caused them as he squeezed every last drop of information, willpower, and hope out of them.

After all, he was always on the other end, being dealt suffering, power being exerted over him. He finally had control, and it felt giddy just to make another suffer.

But no matter what, he stayed true to what he believed in. No matter what, he refused to harm any female prisoners any more than he did male captives. Each time he found himself tempted to forcefully ravish anyone, the haunting face of his sister forced itself into his mind, as she was dragged off by people who did such a thing to her.

And it pissed him off to no end when he saw anyone doing that. He set off on a crusade to stop sexual abuse towards captives, whether they be male or female. Even a man like him knew where to draw the line.

Every night, he always agonized over himself. He wasn't sure if he was a good person at all. He hated himself for the fact that he enjoyed the torture of others. He didn't like the fact that taking the lives of the enemy did not elicit any feelings. He was disgusted by the thought that maybe, _maybe_ he wasn't any better than Pops.

When World War III broke out, he fought even harder. This was his home. No matter what happened, other people could attach good memories to the country that neglected him. He fought on behalf of the civilians who loved their country but couldn't do a thing about the Russians everywhere.

Team Metal spent most of the invasion hunting down terrorists who slipped into the borders under the umbrella of the Ultranationalist invasion, all after the Rangers discovered a terrorist who participated in the airport attacks which started it all.

He didn't know it at the time. Frost's Little Bird brought over a Ranger medic (who was a pretty big deal, being the only girl in SOF) to meet up with the Rangers who discovered the bodies in the first place.

But something about her made him interested to learn more. He knew that her name was Moore, not really much else about her identity. When they went in to pick her up, the radio transmissions implied that she took control of an abandoned evacuation post all by herself, evacuating dozens of civilians who would have been relentlessly gunned down by the Russians.

A notorious soldier was gaining attention in the Russian military. Nobody knew much about her. Intelligence was starting to think she might have been a terrorist infiltrator.

Of course, after capturing and torturing her, they all learned she wasn't. Just some random soldier who wasn't particularly lucky, by the name of Natalia Petrova.

Sandman requested for her release, and permission was granted.

But the night before it happened, Frost couldn't sleep. A feeling in his gut told him that something was very, very wrong.

He didn't trust anyone. But the MPs around were especially suspicious. The female MPs constantly avoided the men, for example. Prisoners were constantly being found beaten, even though none of the SOF interrogators did that.

So Frost took Sandman and checked on this POW, Natalia. And they found three MPs, one about to strip her of what was probably the only innocent part left of her left untouched by the horrors of war.

Rage consumed the usually _chill _operator, and the three were punished for what they did. He managed to control himself from killing them on the spot. After all, they were American.

Frost couldn't help but see Mia in this Natalia person. She was drafted and didn't intend on any of this happening in the first place. Once again, he felt like this was a girl he had to protect. And the more she spoke of herself, the more he felt like he wanted her. Of course, he made sure not to indicate this. Relationships with captives, of course, wouldn't be any good.

It seemed as if she begged for his care. She obviously didn't like the army she was fighting for. She managed to open up to him, despite being a very resistant prisoner. She opened up, even without taking advantage of her weakness for water torture.

A very unusual feeling was bothering Frost.

He didn't want to hurt Natalia. Unlike the rest of the prisoners he ever had control of, she made him feel _different._

If only she weren't the enemy. Frost sucked it up and told himself some things just weren't meant to be.

There wasn't much time for this, though, as he moved to DC for another snatch-and-grab mission, leaving Natalia and the prisoners behind. Doc came along for the ride for once.

When the team hit the building, Frost took point. It was a standard plan, but it always worked. He was the best shot at close range, and always paved the way for the team behind him. This time, Doc was the guy next in line.

But when he moved up the stairs, he made a tiny blunder, one that proved catastrophic. He smacked his toe against a step, tripping and failing to take out a guy who appeared at the top.

Grinch double-tapped the tango, but not before two lucky 7.62s managed to find a resting spot in Doc's skull.

This alerted the rest of the men in the building, and it became a mad race to catch their guy. Not even a mid-operation EMP that fried their electronics and disabled their comms slowed the op one second.

They pulled it off, but not without having to shoot their way out and drive away in the only fucking running vehicle in the area.

There was no recovering Doc's body, at least not until after the battle and the subsequent cleanup.

Frost felt as if he betrayed everyone. He trusted them with his own life, with everything. But with this, he didn't think they could trust him.

Of course, a replacement arrived soon. But it wasn't any random guy plucked from the ranks of another SOF. It was a random _girl_ plucked from the ranks of another SOF, except that she wasn't quite random, being the only woman in question in spec ops.

Only then did Frost get to meet her. Jenna Moore, dubbed "Hook" because of some evidence that implied she did… things before showing up.

She acted strange around him. To Frost, trusting anyone on first sight was alien. Yet she clung to him instantly, placing her entire life in his hands.

Not only that, but when he was in any kind of danger, she was always there to help. Frost reasoned that it _might_ have been just the caring factor, that she was a good medic, but she went above and beyond the call of duty for him.

He wasn't sure why, but he cared for her back really quickly, too. She blindly invested all of her trust in him, and he somehow returned this sentiment.

Hook acted really funny the night after the New York op once she got drunk. (Very quickly, that is.) Frost was unsure of how he felt about her, but he reluctantly decided that the two should keep a professional relationship for the time being. Sure, she was cute and definitely liked him in some form, but at this point he didn't have time for it. He wasn't the immature high-schooler who failed at least nineteen times with girls.

When she was taken captive by the terrorists, he wasn't sure why he was so angry. It was probably the fact that it was exactly what happened to his own sister. His fears proved true when the team breached and found her about to be fucked by some Russian thug.

A double tap wasn't enough to express how Frost wanted to react. An entire mag was barely enough. It was a repeat of the entire Petrova incident, but in this case, the enemy was doing it.

He made it his goal to teach Hook how to be a good shooter. Her first mission was a hot mess, and she needed to know how to do more than just defend herself as a medic. She was an excellent CQB fighter, but fistfights seldom occur in combat.

Sometime later, a general who was part of the political faction aligned against women in combat arms showed up. Politics plagued the higher ranks all the time. This man was General Chandler Bradford, known for being quite the chauvinist. He suppressed the voice of enlisted women who tried to earn a place in the military as shooters. In fact, he pulled some strings to make sure a woman trying for the SEALs failed. Same with many attempting to be infantry officers. Yet among the men, he held a charm for being a caring general towards them. Mostly everyone was blinded by that.

On the other hand was the woman who campaigned for Hook's place in the Rangers, Helen Stelara. She resented the entire male gender for the actions of the men who slowed her rise in rank and the integration of women into special operations. In contrast to Bradford's misogyny, she was a misandrist. She ruined the lives of plenty of innocent male soldiers, having them charged for sexual assault and such on her personal pawns. And any time a mixed unit was under her command, she made sure to send the male soldiers to die first.

Yet neither got in the way of Jenna's fight to improve herself. Not even when she disguised herself as the replacement Bradford brought in and performed to the best of her ability, on a mission to rescue the _fucking_ vice president.

And Frost didn't know how to feel when she confessed her feelings for him. It was just another strange event in his topsy-turvy world. He was starting to become close with her. And he couldn't stand McCoy's attempts to advance on her.

Then things became even worse. Someone from the Rangers, probably her friend or something, showed up to visit at a bad time. One thing led to another, and what he discovered really wasn't what it seemed like.

Frost realized that this guy was probably way more suited for her than he was. He encouraged Hook to go and chase him when he turned and left.

But the moment she left the tent, he started to regret letting go of Jenna.

And at the same time, in the back of his mind, Natalia still bugged him.

He couldn't make up his mind on what he really wanted.

He always dedicated himself to the job, but all of the drama was getting in the way. Nothing could ever go right for him, he guessed.

Nothing changed it. In the end, Derek "Frost" Westbrook still had a war to fight.

* * *

**Kinda feelsy, I know. Or not, and I've failed as a writer. Oopsy.**

**Getting this out of the way, some guest asked me to make a fic for the flash game **_**Sift Heads. **_

**No can do, buddy. I was never much of a fan of that series, to be honest. As a kid, I did like those classic stick figure sniper games, though. Clear Vision and Sniper Assassin, so much fun.**

**I'll admit, writing this made me feel kind of strange. What was especially disturbing was that it wasn't too far from the reality from some unfortunate kids here in the USA.**

**I haven't mentioned specifically where Frost grew up, and I'm thinking of leaving that ambiguous for the reader to interpret. As I did with Jenna, Ramirez, Natalia, Koslov, Peter, and most of the cast.**

**I'm hoping I explained better some of the reasons why such unrealistic recruits are being taken into SOF in this fic. We've already established that Jenna is only a Ranger due to being used as a political pawn. Frost is somewhat along those same lines.**

**Right, I didn't do a good job of getting this across, especially because of Frost's nature of keeping to himself and the fact that he's not the main character. But he does have feelings for Natalia in some form, but he's not even sure of it. It's actually a pairing that I've already decided to build.**

**I've noticed I have a slight pattern when it comes to her. Characters seeing parts of her resemble people close to themselves. Jenna saw "the innocence in her eyes" she previously remembered Brooke to have. Now Frost sees his sister Mia. **

**I'm rambling a lot in these A/Ns, stop me please.**

**Remember, if you want to see a pairing in RLW, vote on my profile for it. If it's not up, chances are I think it's too weird to even consider. Hell, a good amount of those are crack!**

**5TORM out, guys.**


	26. Natalia Petrova and the Staff of Power

**Woohoo, time to get back to some actual plot and stuff!**

**YES, I KNOW I HAVE CHANGED MY NAME. Thing is, the old one is a relic of my new-to-the-internet-3****rd****-grader-who-thought-1337sp33k-was-cool. I needed a newer feel, y'know?**

**I'm gonna try to focus this chap more on the Russian side of things. They deserve a bit more attention, plus, Iron Lady (level after Bag and Drag) is a short mission anyway.**

**WARNING: Giant chapter ahead. Read at your own risk.**

* * *

_Iron Lady_

_October 9, 2016_

_PFC Jenna "Hook" Moore_

_1__st__ SFOD-Delta_

_Paris, France_

"There's our ride! Get Volk! Let's go!"

"Ah, thank fuck."

"Move! Move!"

Frost heard Volk bark something in Russian as Grinch held him down.

"Убери от меня свои руки, ублюдок!" he shouted. "Get your hands off me, asshole!"

Frost crouched down next to the man and spoke as quietly as he could over the approaching V-22 Osprey.

"Соси Хуи," he whispered. "Suck a cock."

Jenna squinted, holding up a hand to block the dust being kicked up by the tiltrotor aircraft straight into her face.

Right when she started towards it, though, she saw a familiar white streak of smoke.

The RPG made its way into the one of the engines, detonating and sending the Osprey spinning to the ground. It smashed multiple cars out of the way, its blades violently chopping at the pavement and the people in the way.

"JESUS!" Jenna screamed, dashing away from the giant hunk of metal behind her.

She ducked to avoid being decapitated by the rotors, flopped onto her ass, and desperately scooted back while the rotors just barely span in front of her.

"Nope nope nope nope NOPE!"

A car rolled over towards her, and she squeezed her eyes shut, preparing for the inevitable crunch of her body beneath the vehicle.

But when she opened her eyes again, she was pinned by the car against a concrete barrier. As far as she could tell, nothing was broken, but she couldn't move for shit.

"Hook! You all right?" Frost coughed.

"This sucks ass."

She looked so helpless, desperately trying to pry herself from the car, but it was no use. She would be stuck there unless someone pulled her out.

"That looks uncomfortable," Truck remarked. "Frost, cover me."

Meanwhile, Sandman was busy notifying Overlord that they would have to move to the alternate LZ, obviously frustrated by the situation.

Truck got behind Jenna and wrapped his arms around her, beneath her own arms.

"Your heart is really fast…I hope it's because you have a fucking car pressing you against a wall."

He bent his knees and placed his feet on the ground, straightening his legs. At the same time, he used his upper body's strength to slide his comrade out from between the car and the barrier.

She slowly slid out, but refused to budge once she was almost out. One last tug, and she flew out and fell onto Truck.

Frost watched the entire time, feeling a bit jealous Truck got to put his hands on her like that.

"What the actual hell!?" he asked himself.

"Thanks for the assist, man," Jenna sighed, brushing herself off and helping Truck up. "Damn, the crap in your vest pouches is really pointy…"

"It's better than being stuck, now isn't it?"

The other three soldiers glared at them as they made their exchange.

"You guys done dicking around? Get moving!" Sandman snapped.

As she passed, Jenna checked through the windows into the VTOL's cockpit for survivors. The crew seemed to be dead. She checked the limp body of the pilot slumped over the dashboard, pushing the corpse back into the seat.

His face wasn't visible, concealed by the helmet's visor combined with a face shield.

"Hook, status on the crew? Survivors?"

"Negative… all KIA."

As they all disappeared from sight, the pilot slowly opened his eyes, squinting at the shrinking figures. He weakly reached out, croaking out a "help."

There was no hope, for they were already gone.

Meanwhile, thousands of feet above their heads, a flying giant capable of smiting anything it deemed worthy below circled menacingly. It was merely an AC-130. "Merely" was an understatement, though.

"Descending, crew. Targeting system online. TV, verify you see our friendlies," the pilot drawled.

His eyes shifted to the photo he propped up on the instrument panel, one of the wife he lost back home in the invasion. He was a relatively new pilot, as was the rest of the crew. But they all had extensive experience of the art, mastering their job quickly because of the war.

"Roger that. Friendlies are marked with white diamonds," the TV operator confirmed.

The pilot remembered the rules of engagement and decided to relay them to the crew again.

"Just to, uh, confirm crew, we are not clear to fire on the buildings. We suspect there are civilians still inside at this point."

The Fire Control Officer heard this and sighed.

_No shit, man._

"Do not engage the buildings," she repeated.

"Metal 0-1, established in orbit over AO Hammer. Request mark, over," the pilot continued.

Sandman's response came instantly, the urgency in his voice a sharp contrast to the relaxed tone the crewmembers aboard spoke in.

"Red smoke on the LZ! Need you to service targets north of that location! Everything else besides danger close is clear to shoot."

"Copy that, Metal 0-1. We gotcha."

The gunner laughed.

"Come on, let's give 'em hell, guys!"

"Here we go!"

"I wanna go home."

"Shut up!"

* * *

_Eye of the Storm_

_October 10, 2016_

_Cpl. Natalia Petrova_

_VDV Spetsnaz – Poacher Group_

_Prague, Czech Republic_

Peter and Natalia stood around, surrounded by a bunch of Czechs whose language they could not understand. The only Russian-speaker besides them was the old guy wearing an ushanka hat nearby.

"Are we the only Russians here? Because this guy is too much of a weirdo for me to consider him a real Russian," Natalia whispered.

His name was Kamarov, and apparently Koslov used to work under him. He had a special smell, one that didn't smell like anything else in the world. No one could put their finger on what it was.

The random people everywhere were the Czech Resistance, banded together once again. Last time it was the Germans, this time it was the Russians. Because of this, they had issues trusting the Russians trying to help them, which was understandable.

Natalia heard a transmission coming over the radio and listened intently so she could relay it to the rest. She was still the most fluent English-speaker, even better than Kamarov. On the other hand, she didn't know a single word in Czech, unlike the veteran.

"Hold on, guys… looks like one of Price's contacts from the US has captured one of Makarov's associates. Makarov's meeting with his advisors… six hours from now, Hotel Lustig."

"That's the center of the city," Kamarov observed.

"The Americans are trying to get him, too."

"Typical," Peter scoffed.

Kamarov then translated this to the Resistance people.

"Why the hell should we even care about this Makarov guy!?" one complained.

"Yeah! We're here so these fucking vodka-drunk Russians can leave already!"

"There's two of them here," one of the leaders growled. "The bitch and her buddy over here."

"Oh, about that," Kamarov chuckled. "They're here from the Ultranationalist military to help us out, they will assist us."

Peter realized Kamarov just blew their cover when the people around began to give the two dirty looks.

"I thought they were Loyalists!?"

"What the hell, man!?" Peter whined, frowning at Kamarov.

The Russian-speaking Czech took this to mean there were moles in their midst.

He strode over to Natalia, took her by the shoulder, and slammed her against the wall.

"You try one funny thing, and you'll regret showing your pretty little face around here."

The other Resistance members followed suit, yelling and circling around her.

_I can't take this anymore! _Peter thought, clenching his fist. _We're on the same damn side, can't you realize that?_

"Stay the fuck away from her!" he snapped, stepping in and shoving the man away. "I… I won't let any of you push her around like that! Or I'll make damn sure you get to join your dead buddies!"

Natalia stared at Peter, who she previously knew as the guy who would push her around himself. He'd really changed since then.

Out of the corner of her eye, three people came out of the water, and Natalia almost pointed her MP-443 at them before realizing those were the 141 guys.

"What took you so long?" Kamarov asked, pulling Yuri out of the water.

"Your intel was off, Kamarov. You said this area would be clear," Soap grumbled.

"I'm sure it was nothing you couldn't handle. Do you know what had to be done to get you this far?"

Yuri already heard Peter screaming at the Resistance when he entered the tunnel and saw the crowd gathering around Natalia.

"Don't scream so loud next time, kid," he muttered. "I could hear you from out there."

"Enough chit-chat," Price interrupted. "Soap, Yuri, best get on your way. Meet you at the rally point."

Yuri and Soap both nodded and jogged away, leaving trails of dripping water behind as they moved along. Price took Kamarov aside to privately chat with him about something. The Resistance members everywhere were pretty much just hanging around and doing nothing of use.

Peter checked his watch, tapped Natalia on the shoulder, and shoved his own weapon into the hidden holster under his jacket.

"Time to go. You have the radio thing in?"

"Yeah. We're good."

Natalia brushed aside a few strands of her platinum blonde hair, revealing a well-hidden earpiece.

They hurried through the crowd, bumping aside a few Resistance fighters to get past. They headed up a few different flights of stairs before finding themselves out on the empty streets. Rain poured down relentlessly as the two struggled to see into the eerie night.

* * *

Explosions continued to shake the ground as Team Metal made its way down the streets. The AC-130 continued its relentless pounding on the infantry, armor, and aircraft swarming the roundabout.

"God damn, it's a death orgy out there!" Grinch laughed.

Volk flinched at the impact of every 40mm round, completely shutting down whenever a 105mm smashed something.

"What's the matter, you little bitch? Not used to being on the wrong end of the kickass?" Jenna taunted.

Once the entire group was in cover, Sandman keyed his radio.

"Warhammer, targets destroyed. Thanks for the assist."

"Solid copy, Metal 0-1," the pilot responded, rubbing his nose. "Overlord, Metal 0-1 is clear. Greenlight bomb run on target area west to east, I say again, west to east."

"Copy. West to east. Odin 6, you are cleared for bomb run TRP 5, 0, 0, 1."

Jenna looked to the sky in anticipation for the arrival of the A-10s.

"_Brrt,_" she whispered.

_**BBBBBBBBBBRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!**_ the A-10s' guns rattled before their bombs blew apart everything in the vicinity, soldiers below either cheering or dying depending on their side.

"Music to anyone's ears." Sandman grinned upon the sound. "Come on, fireworks are over, on your feet!"

Soon after getting up, even more enemies entered the streets, slowing the Delta team's advance to a halt.

"You gotta be kidding me."

Shell casings clinked on the pavement as the soldiers returned small-arms fire, unable to do a thing about the heavier equipment headed their way. Jenna switched the fire selector with her thumb, pressed her cheek against her SCAR-L's stock, and held down the trigger to sustain full-auto fire. The weapon recoiled into her shoulder while she tried to empty the mag on a small cluster of hostiles.

"I'm out!" she announced, ducking back into cover and tossing the dry mag aside.

"Someone get some smoke out there!" Truck yelled. "Hook!"

_Damn, I'm not the best throw, _she thought, glancing around to see Frost looking in her direction.

Frost nodded, pantomiming pulling the pin and holding up his hand.

Jenna slipped the smoke grenade from her vest, primed it, and let the spoon fly. The metal piece clattered to the concrete and slid away while she tossed the grenade itself over to Frost. In one fluid motion, Frost caught it, swung his arm, and chucked it out into the open while its purple gas spilled out.

"We've got smoke on the targets! You're cleared hot, Warhammer!" Sandman reported upon confirmation of the smoke.

A rain of explosive projectiles streamed from the sky and decimated the pathway ahead, paving the way for them to move yet again. Each strike felt like divine intervention, as if a god was destroying everything in the path of a few warriors he favored. Maybe that wasn't _too _far from the truth.

"It's gonna be a long day," Frost muttered.

"All right! They're falling back! Move up, move up!"

Truck provided suppressing fire as each soldier popped out from cover and continued movement down the street, stray rounds occasionally impacting a bit too close. Once his drum was empty, Truck got up to move. Grinch took note, stopping and resting his rifle on a car's hood to pick off hostiles aiming his direction.

Frost and Jenna were ahead of the others, getting behind the wreckage of what used to be a BTR. Sandman was a bit farther back, finding his cover in an overturned pickup. Grinch hung back to effectively use his MK14 and keep Volk out of the firefight.

"Good work, Warhammer, we're oscar mike!" Sandman reported, waving at Grinch and Truck to move up.

"Metal 0-1, we're engaging targets ahead of you. Hold your position," the pilot ordered.

Jenna readied her weapon to cover Frost so he could move up, but right as he got up Sandman started barking something at them.

"Stay down!"

"What the hell?" Jenna muttered to Frost as he immediately got back behind the BTR.

"How about you take a look? Dumb shit…"

Two choppers hovered into the airspace before taking multiple 40mm rounds through their fuselages. One of the rounds pierced a cockpit, most likely tearing the poor pilot to shreds.

"What do we got ahead of us?" Sandman asked.

Frost peeked around the corner and immediately withdrew his head.

"Birds are down, but I'm seeing nothing but armor at twelve o'clock!"

The enemy vehicles were promptly neutralized, freeing the team to once again continue their push.

"Frost, take point! Take the road on the left!" Sandman yelled.

Truck finished feeding the belt into his LMG, slamming the cover down onto it and taking aim.

"Grinch, get your ass up here! And take the bitch with you!"

Grinch lowered his rifle and took Volk by the back of his shirt, forcing him forward and moving up.

"All right, I'm oscar mike!" Frost announced, breaking from cover and dashing out.

He unconsciously reached back, took Jenna's wrist, and brought her with him.

Shortly after, a smoke trail shot from a building ahead, proceeded by another. Soon enough, a drizzle of RPGs flew at them.

The first one detonated not too far in front of Frost, the shockwave knocking him backwards. He flew into Jenna, bringing her down at the same time. Before she could get crushed by the weight of his equipment, she rolled aside before he made contact, recovering and yanking him behind another destroyed BTR.

"WE GOT RPGS!" she yelled, ears ringing from the explosion.

"Whoa!" the AC-130s TV operator remarked, watching the helmet camera's feed.

Sandman followed up with "Warhammer! We got RPG fire from the building in front of us! Need you to hit it, NOW!"

The Fire Control Officer confirmed it.

"Copy that, we got smoke trails from RPG fire to the northwest," she said. "Great, gotta ask for permission to engage and shit."

"Too right," the pilot replied. "Overlord, we're seeing small-arms, RPG fire from the corner building from the northwest. Request permission to engage."

"Come on, let's wipe these bastards off the map already, our boys are taking it up the ass down there!" the TV Operator growled.

Overlord cleared them to engage a short while later, the pilot ordering to fire.

"Switch to the 105. We need to hit it with something big."

"Yeah, like your mom's ass!"

"Shut up and hit that building!"

Back on the ground, Jenna had Frost propped up against the BTR as she checked for injuries.

"Sergeant, are you all right?" she asked worriedly. "Tell me you're okay…"

"All good, no sweat," Frost deadpanned. "Been through worse."

He stood up and waited to feel any strange sensations. Nope, nothing besides the soreness from the shockwave combined with hitting the ground.

The source of the RPG fire blew up, said corner of the building collapsing into rubble.

"…"

"Hook? Ah, fine… _eat shit, bitch."_

Jenna snapped out of her slight trance, confused as to why she had just spaced out. She still felt out of it for some reason…

"C'mon, let's go!" Sandman snapped, sprinting past and tapping her on the shoulder.

While they made their way to the embassy, a MiG attempted to attack the AC-130.

"Hot damn!" the TV Operator exclaimed, his screen fuzzing over.

"MiG inbound! Ten o'clock!"

"Flares, flares!" the FCO panicked, the TV Operator quickly releasing the countermeasures. "Cheese and crackers…"

The TV Operator slowly stroked his screen as it cleared up.

"You done throwing a tantrum now? Ready to act like a reasonable machine?" he whispered, barely noticing the shift in gravity as the aircraft banked right.

"This happens more than you might think," the pilot muttered.

"Are you talking to the black box?" the FCO questioned.

"…"

Sandman nearly got ripped apart by machine gun rounds, quickly throwing himself to the ground to avoid getting hit.

"We're taking more fire from the embassy! Give us a hand!"

The gunner prepared the 105mm, knowing that his aircraft would have to pull out for a few minutes.

"Okay. Go ahead and hit 'em."

_This one's for DC._

"Building across the courtyard! Gimme a 105 right through it!" Sandman requested.

"Negative, Metal 0-1. We're under heavy enemy fire. Give us five mikes to circle back around," the pilot denied.

Frost rolled his eyes.

"Gotta do it the old-fashioned way, seems like."

"Too right. Truck and Frost, flank that MG so we can get moving. Get ready… go, go, go!"

Sandman, Grinch, and Jenna all took aim and battered the enemy with suppressive fire. Frost jogged up the stairs, peering through his red dot sight until a figure appeared in the center. Two shots and the hostile was down. He stepped to the side to line up a shot on another tango, putting one shot into his center of mass before Truck peppered him with bullets.

The two made their way through the hallways, ending at a balcony with the gunner exposed to their sight.

"All right, tag him," Truck said, tossing Frost an MSR.

"I'm rusty with snipers," Frost muttered.

He was proficient in most weapons, but was most effective with a weapon with a faster rate of fire. With snipers and DMRs he had to cycle the bolt and recover from recoil, respectively.

He knelt, gritting his teeth as he placed the gunner in the center of the crosshairs and pulled the trigger.

"Damn!" he grunted, dropping the rifle immediately after the shot penetrated the Russian's temple. "Shoulder hurts like a bitch!"

"All right, he's down! Let's go, on me!" Sandman yelled.

Frost dropped about eight soldiers in the courtyard with what remained of his M4A1's mag. He dumped the empty mag, swiftly slipping a new one out and locking it into the carbine in one fluid motion.

"He's yours now," Grinch grumbled, shoving Volk towards Jenna and firing his MK14 into the courtyard.

Volk looked condescendingly at Jenna.

"Шлуха вокзальная!" he spat. "Train station whore!'

"Dunno what you just said, but sounds like you're a little bitch!" Jenna snapped, punching him in the nose, taking him by the collar, and pulling him up. "You do what I say or I take your balls."

She pointed to her trench knife and pantomimed a chopping action, indicating her crotch area.

Volk's expression melted into one of fear. The fear of being castrated is universal across all languages.

"Move! Move!" Sandman urged. "Gr-, uh, Hook! Keep Volk behind cover!"

"Got it, boss."

Frost and Truck jumped down from the balcony, turned left, and headed into another corridor with a view over the courtyard. They fired through the windows, periodically calling out targets to cut down to draw the heat away from the other four people.

"We're gonna strongpoint that monument just ahead! Bring up Volk when we're secure!"

Grinch sternly nodded at Jenna.

"You got him?"

"I'm used to babysitting useless people…" she sighed, recalling her experience with Raptor back in Virginia as she nonchalantly slipped a stick of gum into her mouth.

"Good. I'm moving."

"Covering."

Grinch got up, tapped off a few rounds, and began his dash to the monument. Jenna picked up and kept her fire in the area of the courtyard Frost and Truck couldn't cover from their position.

"The convoy will be here any second!" Truck advised.

"Hook, you're clear. Moving, move," Frost said.

"Roger."

Jenna yanked Volk by the back of his neck and sprinted him to the monument, shoving him at the top of the steps. His foot caught on the top step, he tripped, and tumbled over behind Sandman and Grinch.

"Jesus, Hook, is that how you foreplay?" Grinch chuckled.

Frost slid in next to him.

"Hey, bump over. I'm getting on the MG."

"Affirmative."

Frost gripped the handles of the mounted gun, pointing it at two parked cars enemy soldiers were taking cover behind.

"Hook, cover your ears."

He paused to ensure she had followed his command before hammering the heavy rounds into the vehicles. They exploded, taking out the soldiers next to them. However, the rest were retreating at this point.

"Huh?"

"TANK!" Truck declared.

At that moment, the armored beast plunged through the wall in front of them, infantry pouring in.

"Hey, Hook. He's gonna want smoke on that thing," Frost advised, tapping a pouch on his vest. "I got one right here. I'll keep the guys off us, you make sure that thing lands near the armor. Counting on you for this."

Jenna nodded.

"Ready? Three, two, one, go!"

He got back up and relentlessly sprayed at the numerous Ultranationalists closing in. Over his head, in his peripheral vision, a stream of purple smoke trailed from a canister, rolling over next to the tank's track.

"Okay. Got your mark. Danger close."

_Unlike Shepherd, these guys care about danger close, _Jenna thought.

A handful of 40mm rounds blasted the tank to pieces, obliterating the unfortunate crew and the nearby soldiers. A soldier's arm was tossed overhead, smacking the ground right in front of Volk.

"You act like you haven't caused this kind of slaughter," Frost spoke in Russian, noticing Volk's disgusted grimace.

"Metal 0-1, this is Uniform 6-2. En route to your location," a Humvee driver reported.

"Copy that! We're almost at the intersection! One minute out!"

The TV Operator noticed the massive swarm of enemy infantry, armor, and aircraft approaching.

"All this for just six guys?" he questioned. "Whatever, more fun for us. Enemies crossing in the open."

"Go ahead and take 'em out before Delta gets there. Let's turn these guys into a shooting gallery," the Fire Control Officer affirmed.

"Like shootin' fish in a barrel. With firecrackers and a bug zapper."

"Heh, I think we've got their attention."

"Ivan-senpai has noticed us!"

The crew jested, trying to relieve the tension of the situation as they continuously took out hostile forces. Not one second passed without some kind of weapon being fired or something blowing up.

Warhammer's crew had a habit of having quite unique commentary on missions, making debriefing all the more entertaining. The FCO was actually saving footage of their missions so she could put them up on Youtube once the war was over.

The Humvees zipped down the streets, pursued by numerous aircraft and vehicles. .50 caliber fire came from the American trucks but didn't quite suffice, leaving Warhammer to handle it.

"My arms are gonna be massive by the time this is over," the loader panted. "Who needs 'roids when you got Russians?"

Jenna held on for dear life, the Humvees taking sharp turns at full speed.

"You drive like Dunn," she mumbled, glaring at the back of the driver's seat.

She plucked the gum from her teeth and wedged it between the headrest and the seat in front of her.

_Have fun cleaning that up._

Her Humvee violently tumbled over, the occupants being battered against the vehicle's interior. Above, the roof gunner was bludgeoned against the road multiple times, unable to draw back into the vehicle. The vehicle finally came to a rest. The driver punched open the door and rolled out.

Jenna was still in a daze, on the verge of passing out. She looked to her right and saw the guy in the shotgun seat hanging upside down, his corpse suspended by the seatbelt. The crushed remnants of the gunner bunched up in the hatch. The guy next to her was breathing heavily, gazing at her with wide eyes.

"Dude… please, I don't wanna die, man! I'm really damn scared!" he pleaded.

Jenna released her seatbelt, falling down. She kicked open her door, motioning to the soldier to get out.

"You don't understand," he panicked, frantically clicking his seatbelt's button. "It won't work, my knife is somewhere in this wreck."

"Don't worry, I got you, everything will be fine!" Jenna assured, heading back into the Humvee with her trench knife, reaching in, and cutting the strap.

She got back out into the open just as Frost was firing a Javelin at a tank ahead.

The rocket came down onto the top of the turret, hitting it on its weak spot.

Jenna turned around, finding the other guy clawing himself out, painting a stream of red on the ground as he crawled over. She knelt down and rolled him onto his back.

"Found the knife," he weakly muttered, gesturing to the handle sticking out of his torso. "Musta fell on it… hey, dude!"

Frost turned around, nodding at Jenna to start firing at the enemy.

"What do you need?"

"Just put me out of my misery, please."

Frost glanced back at Jenna once again, knowing that she wouldn't let him do such a thing. But there wouldn't be any saving this guy, not with an HVI.

"I can't do that…"

"But wait! _Please!_"

Frost reluctantly returned his focus to the fight, but not long after hearing a bang and the sickening splatter onto the pavement. A handgun clattered to the ground.

He realized that Jenna was looking in that direction. But her face wasn't one of horror like one would expect. She didn't seem fazed at all, turning back to the enemy and emptying magazine after magazine without blinking. As if seeing a man shoot himself in the head was normal.

_Something has to be wrong with her…_

The AC-130 paved the way for them to move up, leaving the deceased soldiers behind.

A blazing aircraft rocketed from the sky, hitting the bridge and sending a shockwave through the ground.

"Hey, Frost, I'm taking your smokes," Jenna announced, plucking smoke grenades off Frost's vest wherever she could find them.

As they advanced, she threw them ahead, the AC-130 wrecking everything in their way. She reached for her last one, realizing that she was out.

Choppers hovered in, dumping their ropes out as their occupants slid down. Frost promptly knelt and shot the fast ropers. Their bodies fell all the way down, thumping on the ground.

"0-1, we're bingo on fuel. CAS will be here in thirty seconds. Just hold on," the AC-130 pilot apologized.

"Roger! Thirty seconds, gentlemen!" Sandman announced.

"I don't think we'll last that long!" Grinch responded.

_This shit is becoming too much… _Jenna thought irritably, burning through her ammo supply.

Her SCAR went empty. She let go of it, letting it hang by the sling as she drew her sidearm, snapping rounds off at the choppers above in a futile effort to slow the enemy.

"They got a ton of armor rollin' in from the tower!"

Grinch sighed, plucking the last magazine from his rig.

"Last mag."

"0-1, Odin 6. Can't tell who's who down there. Need you to mark the targets."

Before Sandman could reply, Jenna keyed her radio and shouted back.

"We're out of smoke, out of ammo, out of fucking everything! We're… Boss, where are we?"

"Dead center on the bridge!"

"You heard him! So bomb the fuck out of everything that isn't us, got that!?"

Her pistol's slide snapped back. Out. Desperately, she took a nearby AK off the ground and used it to cut down even more hostiles.

"How close _are _they?"

Jenna winced, her gun clicking dry after lighting up a pair of enemies only about fifteen yards out.

"_Hold on, I'll let you talk to one of them!_" she responded in frustration.

"Fine. Overlord, bomb run is going to level everything in that area. Requesting clearance."

"Odin, you do whatever you have to, to get those men home."

"Metal 0-1. This is Odin 6. Bombs away."

* * *

"Come in, Poacher?" a British voice called over the radio.

"Price?"

"Roger. You two know your job. Clear the path for our guys and notify us of anything noteworthy."

"Understood, sir."

Peter opened an umbrella and held it over himself and Natalia as they stepped out into the downpour. As casually as possible, they started down the street, not breaking the silence.

They made it to a corner and peeked around, spotting a small patrol of Ultranationalist soldiers.

"Let's see if we can get past them," Natalia said. "And remember, we need to act like we're together. Please don't make this too hard, Chernenko."

"Yeah, I got it. I honestly agree that this is a bit weird."

He hesitantly outstretched his arm towards Natalia, looking away. She reluctantly crossed hers into his, and they linked arms.

"Let's just get this through with…"

They stepped straight out into the open, immediately attracting the attention of the soldiers. One pointed his rifle at them before another punched him in the arm.

The patrol waited until the couple neared before their leader stopped them and asked a few questions.

"Are you two lost?"

"No, sir," Peter replied.

"Fine. Then what are you doing out here?"

"We're on our way to our apartment."

"Where is it?"

"A bit further down…"

This line of questioning continued, the soldiers still remaining suspicious of them.

"You do know that this city is on lockdown, correct?" the leader grumbled. "We have orders to shoot any non-Ultranationalist personnel on sight."

Natalia clung to Peter's arm, trying to act as nervous as possible. Keeping their cover was absolutely necessary, even if it meant stuff like that.

"Aw… the young lady is trembling. I mean, look at them, you're scaring them, Sarge! Just let 'em off, it shouldn't be a problem!" a Private piped up.

The sergeant stepped back and looked them up and down dubiously before nodding.

"Very well. Make sure you keep your hands visible at all times… don't want anyone shooting because they thought you were armed."

"Thank you, sir."

Next thing, they were speed walking the fastest they could out of there.

"Ugh, I don't think I can put up with that for the rest of the night. Not with you, at least," Natalia complained.

"Whatever," Peter sighed, pausing a second before speaking again. "You know, it's been a while since I've walked with a pretty girl like this."

"Sure."

"No, being honest. Actually, this was before… the… yeah. Me and Sasha back home on our final date before it started."

Natalia shut her mouth immediately. She knew this was a slightly touchy topic for him, Sasha having been KIA in the early invasion. Unlike most of the girls he'd ever been with, he and Sasha had something… different together. He acted less of a douche with that girl around and actually made sure to care for her.

Natalia and Peter both fell silent, the rain continuing to pound the umbrella above and splash on the cobblestone road. Intermittent gunfire rattled through the sky, an occasional dull thump of an explosion would go off here and there.

Koslov finally broke the silence by speaking over the net, obviously unaware of the current tension.

"Uh, come in, Natalia, do you read?"

"_Natalia? _Since when do you call me by first name?"

"Hey, shut up! A-Anyway, you two need to get off the streets, _break_… we're taking orders to execute any civilians on sight. They're actively searching, too. Try to meet us at the secondary rendezvous point. Out."

Peter snapped out of his daze, his eyes shifting towards his partner.

"What's going on?"

"We need to get off the streets, they're shooting civvies on sight. Meet up with the guys at the secondary-"

An intense white beam of light flashed from around the corner, down the intersection they were at.

"Oh, shit, what do we do!?"

Natalia pulled the first idea out of her head and decided to roll with it.

"Kiss me," she sternly ordered, drawing her handgun.

"Wh-what!?"

"You heard me, dumbass! Follow my lead."

Natalia rolled her eyes as Peter averted his. Then, he pulled her towards him and did as she ordered. Despite the fact that it was her idea, Natalia still found herself off guard.

She stumbled backwards out into the open, right into the sight of two very confused guards.

"What the fuck?"

Natalia emptied her magazine towards them, landing a headshot on the first and peppering the other with about seven rounds.

"All right, run!"

She broke out into a dash, Peter following behind until they could duck into a vacant building. Peter slipped and fell on his ass, rolling off the ground and staggering into the building.

After catching her breath, Natalia decided to comment.

"Let's hope we don't have to do that again."

"What kind of fucking pinpointed idea was that!?" Peter snapped. "We didn't have to go that far!"

"I dunno, it seemed like a good idea at the time."

They both stopped their argument, still panting from the run.

Peter's night vision began to kick in, and he started to inspect the interior of the building. It was a shop of some sort. He couldn't put his finger on what he was seeing at first, but when he realized it…

"Natalie."

"Yeah?"

"We're in a sex shop."

"No way," Natalia scoffed, taking a glance at a nearby shelf… and spotting a twelve-inch black dildo. "Staff of Power."

A second passed before she cried out in disgust.

"Oh, God! This place is really nasty! I'm not fucking religious by any means, but hell, I'm going to church when this is through!"

"Pfffft," Peter snickered, picking up a magazine and looking at the cover. He squinted, barely making out the image and the text emblazoned on it.

A brunette with messy, short hair was on the front, her expression one of surprise and attempted intimidation. This instead conveyed itself as an adorable pouty face, though. She was wearing those thin running shorts American SOF guys used, her rear turned towards the camera as to show off, and to prevent the viewer from seeing the other end.

"She's got a nice ass…" Peter remarked.

Her arms crossed her chest on the side facing away from the viewer, presumably due to her size. Her slightly tight shirt clung to her arms, tracing the outline of her surprisingly impressive muscles. An M4A1 with the faint scratching of the words _Black Parade _dangled from a strap near her exposed, quite nicely formed legs. The title read, _Ranger Panties! Medic edition with Pvt. Jenna Moore! The louder you scream… the faster we come._

"Peter, put that thing down!"

"Why, because it's kind of off-beat from what's going on right now?"

"No! Fucking patrol!"

"Huh?"

A lone GAZ-2975 slowly rolled down the street, its roof gunner deliberately keeping his sights trained on each establishment they passed. Natalia jumped over the counter, landing on the other side and knocking the contents of a box of sex toys all over herself and the floor. A strange smell overcame her nostrils as her eyes adjusted, coming to rest on the label on the side of the cardboard container.

_-RETURNED ITEMS-_

She tried to suppress her gag, squeezing her eyes shut with the offensive objects everywhere. The engine of the vehicle roared closer, the heavy scent of diesel fuel wafting into the store and mingling with the rubbery air. Just barely, over the rumbling, Natalia heard laughter and could make out some drowned-out speech.

"Seth's Fun Corner!? Real kinky, eh, Lana? You'd like to go in?" the door gunner boomed, beaming down into the truck.

"Sh-shut the fuck up, Igor!"

The GAZ continued on its way, and as soon as she was sure it was gone, Natalia shot up from where she was sitting and leaped back from behind the registers.

"Uh, Petrova, you all right?" Peter questioned, seeing her trembling.

"…I'll tell you later. Let's just get moving. Please."

Natalia stepped out of the shop, looking back to make sure the truck had passed. Once she ensured it was clear, she waved Peter over to continue.

Having lost the umbrella during their escape to safety, both soldiers became soaked nearly instantly. Of course, with the rain would come the freezing temperatures.

"Geez, it's c-c-c-cold," Peter remarked, shivering.

"Yeah, like that frozen lake water…" Natalia muttered.

"Can we just pretend th-that never happened? It's over!"

"You know what!?" Natalia snapped, glaring. "I nearly freaking _died_. Thanks to you? I have a fear of drowning. I can't go anywhere near bodies of water anymore. Hell, I got captured by the Americans and they made me break because I didn't want to get waterboarded!"

"Listen, I'm sorry…"

"Sorry doesn't-! No. You know what? Let's just focus on the goddamn mission. I just want to kill the terrorist bastard, have a smoke, and go home so I can rot in peace."

Peter immediately shut up. He never had much of an idea how much his torment really traumatized her.

They rounded a corner and came face-to-face with a masked soldier wielding an assault rifle. He immediately raised it and prepared to fire.

Faced with a barrel in her face, Natalia lost it.

She grabbed the AK's muzzle, bashing his face with the stock, followed by yanking it out of his hands and turning it to shoot him.

However, something hit her from behind, and next thing she knew, she was face down on the wet sidewalk, pinned to the ground. A knee pressed into her lower back, and some object brushed the back of her head.

"Don't point that gun at her, asshole!" Peter yelled, about to attack.

The soldier Natalia had disarmed earlier recovered his rifle and poked him in the side with it. He winced and raised his arms. Compromised.

"You idiots haven't heard the constant broadcasting, have you!?" the man pinning Natalia down growled. "Very well. The boy will not live."

"Boy!?"

"And don't think you're coming out of this one either, sweetheart. You're damn lucky that I already had my fun with another bitch who didn't get the message," he continued, patting her down and finding her gun, which he proceeded to confiscate. "But now I'm regretting that."

_Well… looks like for yet another damn time, I can't do a single thing. Didn't think it would end this way._

He yanked her up and pushed her into the wall, as the other guy shoved Peter next to her. A couple more arrived and lined up, preparing to execute them.

A volley of gunshots rattled, and multiple bodies crumpled on the ground.

Peter opened an eye.

"Hey! Check it out!"

Natalia exhaled in relief. She thought this kind of thing only happened in fiction, but there they were, completely intact.

Multiple figures appeared from an alley across the road, also brandishing weapons. The two Russians immediately surrendered yet again, both having been disarmed. There was no time to take one of the AKs and kill them either.

The silhouettes approached, lowering their weapons. A few knelt and covered both roads, scanning for targets, as another went straight for Peter and Natalia.

"Do you understand what I'm saying?" he inquired in English.

A face of pure puzzlement spread over Peter's face. Natalia on the other hand nodded intently.

"Okay. Tell your boyfriend, that you two need to get inside."

"But, sir!"

"Listen, I don't care if you're Resistance or anything like that. Just keep yourselves safe. Got it?"

He turned around to face a guy to his left, revealing the flag patch attached to his shoulder. American. He slapped his friend's helmet.

"McCoy. Think before doing. We almost got compromised when we emptied on those guys. Don't try to stop executions unless you're cleared to engage, buddy," he scolded. "Come on guys, hide the bodies, then we're oscar mike! The rain should wash the blood off the road."

And like that, they all disposed of the corpses and quickly disappeared. They left the two Russian operatives they unknowingly saved behind. If only they knew…

"Poacher, what's your status?" Price called a short time later.

"We just got ourselves out of a little fix there. Got compromised for a second there, but a bunch of Yankees just bailed us out. We're making our way to the rendezvous point."

"Yanks? Must be those Tier One guys he was talking about… From here on out, try to be a little more careful, would you? Out."

Natalia went over to a corpse stuffed into a garbage can, reaching into its holster to take her handgun back. She immediately slammed the lid, holding her gun out to wash it off and furiously wipe it on her leg.

She looked up at the roofs, scanning their tops. A sudden glint caught her eye. Sergei had them covered with his sniper, and Alex presumably was with him too.

They arrived at the door of a specific building, looking at the subtle icon etched into the corner of the door. It wouldn't have been visible unless one specifically looked for it.

It was a winged dagger much like the one from the SAS insignia. A skull rested on top of it, a circle encompassing the entire emblem.

"One-four-one," Peter confirmed.

Natalia tried to contact Koslov to notify their arrival, immediately realizing that they had taken her radio too. She sighed and knocked on the door, stepping to the side and pulling Peter with her.

A blast of multiple pellets flew through, followed up by a foot kicking it down. A few seconds passed before the person inside peeked out.

"Oh, it's you two!" Alex sheepishly said. "Sorry for almost blowing your heads off."

"Next time… try answering first," Natalia grumbled, stepping inside.

Koslov suddenly rushed to greet them.

"Are you two all right? We saw everything!"

"Sir, we're both in one piece."

"Chernenko, by the way, we also saw you make out with Petrova back there. I don't want any of that on my watch, got that?"

"No, it's not his fault, you don't understand," Natalia stepped in before Peter could explain. "It was my idea. I'm sorry, I didn't know what to do."

Koslov nodded and turned away, feeling slightly disappointed for some reason. Why did he feel disappointed?

"Feet wet?"

"Absolutely freezing, sir."

He nodded to Alex, who put down his backpack and took a blanket out.

"Kaminski's got the only one. Chernenko, it's yours."

Natalia sighed. She couldn't feel her fingers at all. It kind of sucked not being a whiny wimp like Peter, not visibly shaking.

"K-Koslov, sir, I'm not feeling so well either… if it's fine, uh… could I get close to one of you guys for heat or something?"

Sergei shook his head.

"Petrova, I will," Alex volunteered.

"Shut up Kaminski, you're looking kind of red there. Don't want to catch a fever if you've caught something."

Koslov seemed kind of clueless. Usually, most men would totally jump on the opportunity to cuddle with the cute girl on their team if given the chance, whether there was any connection or not.

"Doesn't look like anyone's willing," he shrugged, making the situation much more awkward. "Anyway, we need to get to the roof. We will meet up with our chopper there."

Alex started up the stairs, followed by Sergei, then Peter. Natalia sighed, starting to walk up behind Koslov.

They got to the top of the building after quite a few flights of stairs. They had to take some breaks on the way up.

"Damn, how many floors are there on this thing?" Peter complained.

A dull thumping in the distance grew louder as their ride hovered into position.

"Come on, get on! Before the Resistance kicks off the fireworks!" Volkov urged.

"Thirty seconds," Pavelovna notified her copilot.

"Roger. Hey, Dmitri, get them on, we dust off in thirty seconds!" Fedorova repeated.

"They're on, get us off the ground!"

"On it! Irina, prep those flares. I feel like some of the Resistance guys didn't get the memo."

"Flares ready, weapons hot in case anything goes south. Now, on your right you will see our buddies, and a bit beyond that you'll see a bunch of doomed fuckers!" Fedorova announced.

All eyes save the pilot's looked in that direction intently to witness what was about to go down.

The copilot glanced at her watch, counting down.

"Three… two… one… Happy New Year's or some shit."

A couple of the men stood up, spraying their assault rifles in the air. The Russians on the ground looked up before a Resistance guy with an RPG launched a rocket. It took out a chopper carrying its cargo load, a BTR. The aircraft lost control, swinging the armored vehicle around before dropping it and crashing into the ground.

A swarm of fighters swarmed out into the courtyard, charging the Ultranationalists there.

"Doesn't look like we're taking any fire at all," Volkov said. "Good."

Koslov's voice joined the net to explain the group's next orders.

"We're stopping at a Resistance stronghold to help buy some time for the 141 guys to move through. We'll then we relocate to our own position so we can move in and try to take out Makarov if they miss the window. Either way, Archangel will still provide our evac."

The group nodded to confirm that they understood.

"Hold on! How will we prevent them from firing at you guys wearing the uniforms?" Natalia questioned, putting on a chest rig provided by the crew chief and racking the bolt on an AKS-74U kept in the chopper.

"Hopefully they got the heads-up. And if not, well, we'll send you two in first."

Volkov kicked the fast rope out of the door as the helicopter got into position.

"Go! Go! Go!"

Natalia fished her gloves out of her pocket and covered her hands before sliding down. She crouched at the bottom, aiming towards a group of Ultranationalists on a building ahead. However, because the chopper had Russian insignia, they must have thought that Poacher Group was just moving in to clear the Resistance-held building.

One of those soldiers tuned his radio to try and get into their frequency, not knowing that they weren't using a Russian one.

"Damn!" he snapped. "They're trying to assault that compound, but they'll get wiped out immediately! Should we hit them harder?"

"No way," his squad leader denied. "They're heading into that mess on their own. How about we conserve our ammo?"

Once everyone was confirmed boots on ground, the rest of the rope fell, coiling as it landed on the roof.

"Inside this door, they're expecting us!" Koslov ordered, indicating the roof access.

Natalia kicked it open. From around the corner, down the stairs, came the voice of the person assigned to defend it.

"Planet! Planet, or we will detonate the explosives!"

Her eyes jumped to the ceiling, which was plastered with C4. She whipped around and looked at Koslov desperately.

"Countersign is 'Crimea!'"

"Crimea!"

"You're good, hurry up!"

Natalia nodded and started down, followed by Peter, then the rest.

The first sight they saw upon rounding the corner and looking down was a machine gun nest pointed right up at them, and the gunner standing to the side to let them through.

"Good to know we're trusted," Peter mumbled.

They turned into a corridor and exited through the door there. They ended up at the north side of the building, where Resistance members fired out of the tattered walls at the Russians outside. Machine gun fire and occasional RPGs flew inside, killing unlucky people who were in the way.

"Take up positions where you can find 'em!"

A medic was dragging a wounded man to treat him, but fell after a lucky shot brought her down. Another person took up that patient and brought him to safety. Out of the corner of her eye, Natalia saw Alex pick up the injured woman and head for cover.

"Hey, my shotgun's not worth shit here, sir!" he reported, returning to Koslov. "Permission to run supplies and recover casualties?"

"Granted," Koslov replied. "Fetch me a goddamn coffee while you're at it."

"Sir?"

"Just kidding, do what you gotta do!"

Sergei aimed through a hole in the wall and took a potshot. He then displaced to another position, and took another shot. He repeated that cycle, trying to find a different spot each time instead of rotating between the same positions.

Peter set up his LMG slightly away from the streets to help draw the attention away from the people in the portion of the building facing that way, who were taking the most punishment. He fired in controlled bursts compared to the constant rate the Resistance fired out.

Koslov sent an RPG out, taking down some hostile armor advancing on the compound. As he got down to insert a new warhead, Alex jogged in with a steaming cup wrapped in a cardboard sleeve.

"Kaminski?"

"Coffee, sir," he replied, grinning. "The medics had some, this was for helpin' em out. Cheers."

He set it down next to the awestruck sergeant before heading off with a belt of ammo to resupply Peter.

Koslov raised his eyebrows, casually took a sip of his drink, and nonchalantly got back up to search for targets.

Sergei appeared to his right, taking aim before a bullet impacted the wall behind him.

"Fuck!" he cussed, leaving the spot. "Damn sniper thinkin' he's all that…"

A spotlight momentarily glanced a building ahead, one of the windows suddenly producing a sharp glint. Koslov focused his launcher at that window and let loose his rocket.

The projectile entered the window and exploded on the wall behind it. The sniper in question tumbled out. If he wasn't a corpse already from the shrapnel, he would be when he hit the ground.

"Coming through!"

Two familiar people made their way through the hallway, weaving around dazed Resistance fighters stumbling around and stepping over bodies.

"Petrova, on them! Show them the way!"

Natalia stood up and stepped over to them.

"Good to see you, lass," Soap smirked. "Which way?"

"Uh, I think it's this direction."

She took point, speed walking through the corridor in the general direction she thought the exit was.

"Kaminski?" she asked, spotting Alex.

"Just keep going down. You're goin' the right way."

"Come on, you're supposed to know the fuckin' place!" Yuri snapped.

_Geez._

They found the end of the hallway, where the stairs led down. Before he started down, Soap took Natalia aside for a moment.

"Might want to get out of here. This building won't last very long."

With that, he nodded and left.

Natalia ran back in, notifying Koslov.

"Got it, we'll get back to the roof. Get a hold of Archangel and we're outta here."

"Archangel 1-2, this is Poacher 3-1! We're going back up to meet you on the roof!"

"No can do, 3-1," Fedorova responded. "It's too hot, and we're not sure about the structural integrity of the building. We can pick you up at the secondary LZ, but you might come under fire from the Resistance!"

Koslov turned around, with a look that pretty much indicated what he would say: _Lemme guess. Secondary LZ?_

Natalia shrugged.

He got up and headed for the exit, gathering the group members as he went along.

Once they got outside, Soap and Yuri were behind a brick wall, keeping their heads down as fighters futilely charged into the open to be cut down.

"Two nests, building on the right, they've got us pinned down!"

Peter opened up on them for a quick distraction. In that short window, Sergei picked off one, leaving Yuri to slot the second.

"Thanks for the assist!"

While the 141 pair headed straight down the street, the Russians peeled left. Natalia was the last, and looked around the intersection to watch her allies leave. A giant crowd of fighters stampeded down the street, before being abruptly illuminated by a helicopter's searchlight. Beneath the chopper, a tank revealed itself, blowing the swarm of men to pieces and creating a smoking pile of Resistance corpse.

"These people have no semblance of tactics," Koslov remarked. "Can't blame them. They're just civvies who want us out."

The rest of the trip to the LZ was relatively uneventful. They took a path in the direction of Russian-controlled turf, which at the moment the Resistance wouldn't dare enter.

Natalia went over the plan again in her head once she was in the helicopter.

_-141 will have snipers in the belltower of the church across from the Hotel Lustig. _

_-We, however, need not infiltrate. Instead, we will take up position at a building sticking out into the square._

_-141 is expected to pull it off. Either Price will take him out in that hotel, or the snipers will take their shots._

_-Plan B: If that fails, we can call in rocket strikes from Archangel on the hotel._

_-In the event of Plan B, we will be compromised, and that will complicate our evac._

_-Plan C: If Plan B is unavailable, we can storm the building ourselves. High-risk._

_-Plan B will not be needed, and definitely not C either._

_-Makarov won't know what hit him._

"Petrova."

Koslov's voice called from the side.

"You still cold?"

Natalia suddenly looked at him in surprise.

"Yes... I am, Sergeant," she mumbled reluctantly.

Koslov closed his eyes, seemingly avoiding looking at her.

"Very well. I'm going to take a nap. You're welcome to get closer if you like."

Natalia gasped, albeit softly.

"Now, don't be getting any ideas. I'm freezing my balls off too. I've spooned guys on winter missions before."

"Understood."

Slowly, she cautiously inched in her seat towards her superior until they awkwardly pressed together.

Everything was fine and dandy until Koslov, in his sleep, unconsciously reached out and wrapped his arm around Natalia. She felt a strange burning sensation in her face, and her heart started beating faster.

Was it fear? She didn't exactly have good experiences in such close quarters with men.

Or was it something else? She couldn't put her finger on it.

Her eyelids fluttered closed as the overwhelming urge to rest caught up. Soon enough, she also was out cold.

Volkov looked back at the two, Natalia slowly sliding over to the side to eventually come to a rest on Koslov's lap.

"That's cute," he murmured.

* * *

Jenna was once again sitting next to Frost on the Little Bird on the way home. Her eyes were fixated on the remains of a significant landmark the US Military had just demolished in an effort to save a handful of people.

"Man, I wonder what they're gonna do about the Eiffel Tower when this is done," Grinch remarked.

"One hell of a cleanup effort," Truck agreed.

The entire war was ravaging everything in its path. Now, not only did it affect the people participating, it also affected the environment they inhabited.

The net was buzzing with talk about how the most iconic landmark in France was just knocked over like a bowling pin, but Team Metal remained silent about it on the ride back to base.

At this point, it was just another day at the office.

* * *

**I finally friggin' updated. Sorry for the wait. I decided to wait for school to be out, and then hit a giant writer's block… blah. This was a hard chapter to make, and I didn't plan it too well.**

**Good news! My depression's finally let up. School was seriously being a giant stressor, but now that I can finally relax… well…**

**For all of you confused about what's going on. Basically, Delta's part takes place a day before Poacher's.**

_**-Delta escapes with Volk. (This chapter.)**_

_**-141 already knows that Makarov will be in the Czech Republic, but not exactly where. (Chapter before last.)**_

_**-Delta interrogates Volk. (Next chapter.)**_

_**-141 infiltrates through the city, and Poacher provides support. (This chapter.)**_

**The **_**Ranger Panties**_** bit was a bit gratuitous. Sorry if it made you uncomfortable. It's actually a joke between my pal and I, and it'll probably be a running joke. I made sure to lampshade the hell out of it.**

**If you don't get it, Ranger Panties are what they nickname the thin running shorts Rangers use. **

**Sorry about that sex shop scene in general. You see, I like to have one side doing combat and the other not at one time, but since both the US and Russian sides were in action, I decided to play some of Natalia's for pure comedy. The name of the shop is based off these doodles I'd make in another friend's art sketchbook, dubbed as such due to their extremely random nature.**

**And the _Staff of Power_ is from _No Easy Day_ by Mark Owen, about his participation on the raid to kill Bin Laden. Basically, on a training mission, Owen's CO finds a 12-inch black *cough* toy immediately dubbed the Staff of Power and pranks DEVGRU SEALs with it, strapping it on steering wheels, in boxes of animal crackers, and coiled in gas masks. According to the author, it is still unaccounted for. Ugh.**

**The chapter's name is based off of that reference, Indiana Jones style.**

**Try to find all the little Easter eggs I've scrambled through this one! For example, Jenna's line "hold on and I'll let you talk to one" is actually stolen from a real life war hero.**

**Audie Murphy, most decorated soldier of WWII. That specific line was uttered when the 19-year old lieutenant ordered the 18 remaining soldiers of his company back when six tanks and a bunch of Germans roll in. He then called artillery strikes on them and when asked how close the Germans were, replied with that very line I mentioned. Later he would proceed to hop on a burning tank destroyer and take out around 50 enemies with its machine gun for about an hour.**

**Guy's got balls of steel, check him out sometime. He actually serves as inspiration for RLW's heroines. He enlisted at 17, and I'm not sure if I've ever mentioned their ages, but I imagine Jenna at 20-21 and Natalia as 22. In the original version of this fic, both were 19 until I bumped their ages up to be more believable. **

**He also had PTSD, and Natalia's "snapping" moments are in part based on an incident where Germans faked surrendering and killed his friend. He then killed them, took their MG, and gunned down the rest, describing it as **

"_**A demon seems to have entered my body. My brain is coldly alert and logical. I do not think of the danger to myself. My whole being is concentrated on killing."  
**_

**Sound familiar?**

**He was in the 3****rd**** Infantry Division, which if you've paid attention, was where Jenna was pre-Rangers.**

**Enough nerdery.**

**So apparently one of the countries this fic has visitors from is _satellite provider. _That means direct link to satellite, and is common for Middle-Easterners. So whoever's out there reading this, kudos for having the dedication for that.**

**Apparently, our troops also use these satellite providers too, at least if a few examples mean anything. So this one goes out to any of our boys and girls in the service who read this piece of trash and probably laugh at how absolutely unrealistic it is. I know for a fact that I know less about military life than a POG/pogue.**

**I've started work on a side-project coauthoring another fic, **_**A New Threat. **_**It's basically an AU where the MWverse merges with the Ghosts-verse. Later down the road it'll feature a newly-made OC of mine, Destiny "Bandit" Elliott. Until then, all I'm doing is a bit of rewriting and such, giving it that 5TORMY-feel and making it more fun to read. Check it out sometime if you're interested. Possible RLW references, too.**

**Once again, take a look at **_**Winter Sky, **_**another fanfic in this universe. Will be updated… sometime.**

**God DAMN. This chapter's been in the works for so long that EVEN MORE has happened. Go take a gander at author Hawkeye-33's work, it's awesome material if you want more female protag action to fill the void this thing leaves whenever I don't update. Reason why I bring that up is because she's started a fanfic featuring various authors' OCs, which I might have mentioned way back last year. Hopefully it's gonna be kickass, and it's looking to be so far. Plus, it features the totally-not-lovely-piece-of-shit Jenna "Hook" Moore you guys seem to like for some reason. But really, while you wait for that, check out 33's other stuff. **

**By the way, without checking my profile, just wondering: do I come across as male or female? At least, whenever I don't deliberately mention my gender. Or am I relatively gender neutral? I'm curious.**

**Anyway, next chapter, we'll see Metal's interrogation of Volk, and the subsequent events following **_**Eye of the Storm. **_**Remember that the Delta missions are taking place a day before the 141/Poacher's. **

**Jenna hasn't really seen Frost's true colors when it comes to his prisoners… and when he relays the intel to 141, he encounters an old friend from Poacher. Whoo!**

**Possible Natalia X Frost ahead, just sayin'. As if things couldn't get worse. **

**And no, Natalia X Peter isn't much of a thing. I played that for comedy.**


	27. Enhanced Interrogation

**Well, I'm back. I feel like maybe you guys might deserve another chapter.**

**I've been spending a lot of time rewriting chapters 1-11 to make them better. According to the stats, I have trouble retaining new readers.**

**Then again, it seems to be I have trouble retaining some of my so-called "fans." Gee guys, you're the best. Thanks for not reading any of the newer chapters or giving feedback. I appreciate it.**

**Yeah, I'm salty.**

**Anyway, this chapter takes place between after the US part and before the RU/141 part last chap. I took the liberty of italicizing Russian stuff, and it's totally not because of my limited knowledge of the Russian language.**

* * *

Nobody Expects American "Enhanced Interrogation!"

_October 9, 2016_

_1__st__ SFOD-Delta_

_Undisclosed Forward Operating Base, France_

Grinch already had Volk sedated, secured, and restrained while the rest of the team was busy debriefing, turning in their weapons, and stripping their gear.

He crossed his arms as he leaned against the wall behind the captive, his stare unwavering. Grinch wished he could be judge, jury, and executioner – Volk was obviously guilty as charged.

His hand shifted to the sidearm resting in his drop-leg holster. He could kill this guy on the spot if he liked. But he wouldn't. The only reason why he wouldn't kill the son of a bitch yet was because he was the key to finding Makarov.

Usually, Grinch would be pulling the good-cop-bad-cop routine with Frost, but instead they'd be using different techniques this time. Hook was coming along instead. But her general tendency to be an asshole would make her a natural at it.

The pair strode through the hallways as Frost broke it down for Jenna to understand.

"The idea is, I'll be asking all the questions. He doesn't speak English that much, as you can probably tell. But knowing you, I'm sure you would want to beat the hell out of him. And it's fine if you do. We play dirty, and nobody has to know. Just don't kill him."

"Got it."

"So we're not going to let up on him, either. Sometimes hitting them isn't the best way to talk. Fortunately, we've developed methods that always break the bastards…"

Jenna hadn't seen this side of Frost before. He was dead-set and emotionless in the way he spoke of, well, torture. So many methods. He seemed to relish in the concept of it, too.

Volk finally awoke, disoriented from the drastic change in the environment. A dark place. He couldn't make out any kind of furniture in the room at all. He felt the presence of someone else but couldn't see him at all.

That presence revealed its voice, speaking a foreign language. The transmission was preceded by a characteristic beep unique to military comms.

That's right. The Americans found him and managed to capture him with the help of the GIGN. The pieces were coming together – he was in their custody. Maybe Makarov had a plan in place already…

No, he wouldn't. He was the type who would sever all ties with someone in this kind of situation. He didn't care. Volk was just another person who was convenient for him to take advantage of. A rung on the ladder.

He listened to the American's speech, the way he monotonously drawled.

"Affirmative. He's up."

Frost turned to Jenna once receiving the confirmation.

"We're cleared. Oh, and one more thing. What we are about to do is explicitly against the Geneva Conventions. Not a word of this will leave this room," he affirmed.

"Got it."

Volk heard a door open behind himself, a momentary burst of light hitting the wall in front. The exchange of footsteps synced up with the shadows moving around. One left, and two arrived.

A few seconds of silence passed before one spoke. His voice was young, yet assertive.

"_We already know everything. We know who you are, what you've done, why you do it. We're here to confirm it, and that's all you are good for… Viktor Khristenko. Or, do you prefer Volk?"_

"_You shut the fuck up! You may not refer to me by that name!"_

Snickering.

The interrogator slowly walked until he was right in front of Volk.

"_You act as if you have any kind of power over me. The thing is, you have no power anymore. You no longer have any kind of worth. All of those who trusted you have abandoned you."_

"_I had power, and I still used it, did I not?"_

Frost leaned in close to the prisoner's ear and yelled straight into it.

"_YOU WILL NOT SPEAK UNLESS ORDERED TO!" _he boomed. _"LEARN YOUR PLACE!"_

He stepped away and barked something else to his partner.

"Hook, hit it."

The lights on the ceiling flickered on, the brightness overwhelming Volk as he struggled to recognize his interrogator.

Standing before him was a person matching the voice. He seemed barely over the age of twenty, yet his stone-faced expression was that of a seasoned veteran. He ran his hand through his unkempt blond hair, his matching sky-blue eyes staring straight into Volk's soul. A smirk slowly spread over his face.

"_I own you now. You're not human anymore, from here on out. You're a toy, something for me to play with. After I squeeze every last droplet of information out of you, you will be worthless to us and we will dispose of you. And the last of your time on this earth will be spent atoning for your sins, begging to be absolved as you inch closer and closer to the gates of hell. But hell is not fiery. Hell is cold. Absolutely freezing. I'm your personal demon. Frost."_

He repeated this in English, the sadistic tone in his voice unchanging as he paced around the chair. He turned to Volk again.

"_You are dead to us."_

He didn't feel quite scared, but he definitely was uncomfortable. He felt uncertain.

"Hook, come over here."

Lighter footsteps until another kid appeared. Short, slim, yet athletic female. Beefier, stockier arms than expected. Volk nearly mistook her for a man, if not for longer hair and softer features.

"_This is my friend, Hook. Tell me, does she scare you yet?"_

"_A flat-chested skinny bitch like that? I could kill her with a slap across the face."_

An off-putting chuckle from Frost and an order to Hook.

Jenna spat into Volk's face. But it was too hard to be saliva. He could feel something stuck to his forehead.

Gum.

"_That was fucking disgusting! You're not a lady at all!"_

Jenna knew what she was saying.

"Pal, I most definitely am not. I'm much, much worse."

She followed up with a slug to the face, busting his nose and sending blood rolling out of his nostrils. It dripped into his open mouth as he screamed, the pain flaring through his face.

"_Nobody can hear you. Any attempts to plead will fall on deaf ears."_

Hook backed away as Frost continued to speak.

"_You will answer any and all questions we ask truthfully. We already know when you're lying. We know everything. Pretend that in this room, you are alone with two gods. This room is the universe, and you are the only mortal left in the universe. Answer our questions, and whatever is left of your pitiful life will be much, much smoother."_

Frost pondered on what he would ask first. Of course, in the end, all of the questions would end up leading to the most important thing they needed to know: where was Makarov?

Volk was the CEO of Fregata Industries, which CIA reports revealed to be a front for arms shipping. In fact, when Team Metal was trying to rescue Hook, they discovered a few documents, and Makarov's terrorists managed to get a crate of something away.

Then, it hit him – those were the chemical weapons! Something went wrong along the line even though the US warned foreign intelligence, including the Brits.

It really wasn't a lie when he said the Americans already knew everything…

"_Fregata, huh?" _Frost began. _"We've got a lot of dirt on your company. In fact, we managed to stop you from releasing some of your gas in New York. And it just so happened that a bunch of terrorists got it away… terrorists working under Vladimir Makarov. You have anything to say about that?"_

"_They must have stolen the shipment! A crate went missing at one point!"_

Frost produced the papers he had recovered that night months before and glanced over them. And as he suspected, Volk was lying out the ass.

"_Really? Explain these. Shipment of Nova 7 compound, to be distributed to the United States and various cities in Europe including: London, Paris, Berlin, Brussels, Copenhagen, Warsaw, Prague, Madrid, Budapest, and Rome. European shipments will be sent upon further notice," _he read. _"Safe to assume that those shipments were the gas that hit… hmm, London, Paris, Berlin, Brussels, Copenhagen, Warsaw, Prague, Madrid, Budapest, and Rome. Huh."_

It was especially interesting that it was written in Russian. Fregata was Czech, as were most of its personnel. It just so happened to be that the terrorists were Russian.

Before Frost showed up, Team Metal worked very closely to a certain special operations coalition, formerly renowned and now notorious. This wasn't the first run-in the US had with the company.

"_How about we talk about the guy in charge before you? Alexandro Rojas? Alex the Red? Of course you know him. You know what happened to him?"_

"_The police found him dead, strapped to a metal frame. As far as I know, the favela gangs did it, though they blamed it on a bunch of mercs."_

Moore jumped when Frost randomly cried something out with a grin on his face.

"_Wrong! Task Force 141, most dangerous warriors on the planet. And you'd never guess why they went for Rojas."_

Volk's eyes widened as he shifted in his seat. His predecessor also dabbled in arms dealing.

"_He happened to have supplied a significant attack. You have supplied an atrocity. And for whom did you do this?"_

"_You can't get it out of me that easily, dumbass fuck!"_

"Oh, that's too bad. We already know the answer, I was just hoping that you'd cooperate," Frost shrugged. "Hook, don't hold back. Go ahead, make him pay for what he did."

She reluctantly brought her clenched fist, slowly stepping towards the captive. It was pretty obvious that he was trying to make a play on how she felt. The guy was a scumbag, sure, but wasn't there some easier way? Her partner obviously had more experience.

It took her a second to realize that had this been her Ranger days, she would have gladly smacked him on the spot. Seemed like Frost managed to take that out of her.

"Well? Hurry up," Frost snapped, waiting for a response. "DAMN IT, MOORE! FUCK! HIM! UP!"

This was the most emotion she'd seen Westbrook display during her time with him. Maybe she was trying to mellow out a bit for him. He was constantly _chill, _yet she was a hothead. She was doing it for Frost.

She would do this for him, too.

Jenna lunged at the helpless man in the chair, screaming at the top of her lungs. A moment before the punch connected, she became the person she was before the Army. A girl with no restraints, doing whatever the hell she wanted and doling out punishment as she saw fit. The strict requirement of discipline in the military slowly suppressed that side of her, reducing her to just a pain in the ass for her unit.

She could see why Frost apparently liked this. Why he seemed to enjoy his free pass to break the rules, granted the ability to make his own decisions.

The two stepped back as Volk hollered, hunching over from the pain in his gut. His coughing fit ended with a puddle of fluid on the floor. Jenna went behind and yanked his head up once again so he could look at Frost.

"_Look at that. Absolutely disgusting. Filthy excuse for a human being," _Frost taunted. _"Let me ask you again… who were you working for?"_

"…"

"_I'll give you three seconds."_

"…"

"_Three."_

"…"

"_Two."_

"…"

"_One-"_

"_MAKAROV! VLADIMIR MAKAROV, ALL RIGHT?"_

Frost bent down so he was face-to-face with Volk.

"_Now that wasn't too hard, was it?" _

He went over to a folding table in the corner of the room, on which various documents were strewn about. Sifting through the pile, he sighed, realizing that one was missing.

"Hey, Hook. Run over to intel for me, I requested a file but they don't have it. I'll call them up and tell them I'm sending you, so you should have clearance," he ordered.

"Sure thing," she nodded, stepping out.

* * *

_A day before_

"Where the hell are you going?" Jenna asked, watching McCoy pace around his locker as he stuffed gear into duffel bags.

"Well, I dunno, to be honest. They said they'd brief me once I'm there," he replied, rolling up a pair of pants.

"Where the hell is 'there?'"

"Czech Republic. Russian turf, it's swarming with the bastards. I'm guessing it's some snatch and grab shit. But I'll be meeting up with Bravo team there."

"Roger."

After Ramirez had left, Jenna had to run to her own personal locker to swap out her shirt for something long-sleeved. She couldn't have anyone seeing her massive screwup at all, even if the scratches weren't that deep. But McCoy happened to be in his own locker, and intercepted her for conversation before she could get there.

"By the way, what kit do you think is good when you gotta run slick? Chances are it's a stealth op."

"Crye JPC, it's probably the tiniest plate carrier that you could use. Keep stuff off your hips and legs, so no holsters or the like. Even better, slick 6094 with a rig over it. I use that when I don't want to wear much but still need the protection. Worked for DEVGRU when they killed Bin Laden."

"Thanks."

"_Yup," _Jenna said impatiently, trying to slip away until McCoy stopped her again.

He finally took a break from his packing and stopped to talk to her straight on instead of speaking as he went back and forth.

"Moore, I swear. The way you know so much about gear and stuff, you're not like any other girl. And I think that's part of why I… what the fuck happened to your arm?"

"Nothing! Buzz off!" Jenna snapped, turning away and trying to conceal it.

Next thing, McCoy was there and took her arm to inspect it.

"You take your goddamn hands off me or the pieces of your corpse are going into these bags!"

"Ooh. Emo stuff right there, Moore. Article 134, this can get you discharged. I think the boss will be pissed if he found you sliced n' diced."

"You shut up, and not one word of this to anyone."

"Oh, I won't. I'll make an exception for you," McCoy smirked. "Though, how about you owe me… a favor?"

"I think I've fucked enough guys in my lifetime," Jenna bitterly growled, recalling her encounter with James before and Allen preceding him. "I hate that bitch Stelara as much as you do, but I'll gladly pull strings if you make a slip."

_Dammit, _McCoy thought.

He would have been able to use that one on her, but he totally forgot that she was obviously Stelara's pet. Hell, after the fiasco with Goalpost, where Hook went out in his place, Stelara was coming down on him harder than usual. Of course, Bradford had his back, but…

"Hey, what are you two doing in here at once? Hook, I thought that you didn't like this guy," Truck said, walking in.

"Oh, uh, it's nothing," Jenna lied.

"Now, as much as I'd like to believe you, knowing you, I can't."

McCoy spoke up.

"Sergeant, she's right. I just needed advice on what kind of kit to run over in Prague. She recommended slick 6094, Rhodesian on top."

"Well, that's good to know. I remember back when she first showed up, she'd only ever use a chest rig and nothing else. These days she actually wears what makes sense. One of these days, I'll catch her wearing something long-sleeved…"

_Heh, funny thing about that._

"Well, I came here to bring McCoy out. I trust you alone, Hook, but I swear to God, don't stick any more gum on Grinch's stuff. I saw a bottle of glitter in his pack, and it's safe to say you'll have to get rid of more gear."

* * *

Jenna returned with the file Frost requested. Taking it from her, he slapped it down onto the table, sliding out a single piece of paper he was seeking. He walked up to Volk, glancing it over.

"_We know you're close to Makarov. You know where he will be, and when. And you will help verify what we already know."_

"_You're lying. You don't know shit at all."_

"_Keep telling yourself that. Oh, and that comment was out of line," _Frost remarked. "Hook?"

As she stepped forward again, Volk gulped and jumped in his chair.

"_All right! Okay! I'm sorry! Please, no more of HER!" _he pleaded, turning his face away.

"Uh-huh. So, tell me," Frost started. _"What is Makarov doing in Prague?"_

Volk refused to speak, that is, until Jenna unknowingly shifted her feet. He took that as a signal that she was going to hit him again.

"_A-A meeting!"_

Frost raised his eyebrows. He seemed to have talked pretty quickly for that one for some reason. He already had an essential piece of the puzzle, just because the idiot made a slip. All he had left was to figure out _Who, what, when, and where?_

"_Good, that's the kind of thing you need to tell me. Who's he meeting with?"_

No response.

"_And where in Prague might that be? Outskirts? Underground? Some random sex shop?"_

"_You won't be hearing anything else!"_

"_What time? TIME? WHERE!? WHO!?" _Frost yelled, increasingly getting more frustrated.

He worked with him for a second. What the hell happened?

"_YOU NEED TO SPEAK, YOU WORTHLESS PILE OF SHIT! IF YOU DON'T TALK, YOU'RE GOOD AS DEAD! THIS IS YOUR CHANCE TO TALK BEFORE YOUR MOUTH IS FILLED WITH DIRT, AS WE BURY YOU IN THE MIDDLE OF THE GODDAMN FRENCH COUNTRYSIDE!"_

Jenna was in shock at how badly Frost was losing it. Was this part of his routine, or was he actually losing his composure for once? Frost was admittedly an unpredictable character, albeit not in the same way she was.

Frost regained his _cool._

"Hook, on me, we're kitting up," he ordered, opening the door.

Grinch nodded at Frost while he walked by, as if he knew exactly what was about to go down.

"Kitting up? Why?" Jenna asked as Frost grabbed her arm and pulled her along.

Right where her scratches were. They burned as his hand tightened around them.

"We're going to spook the hell out of the guy. Trust me, this ought to make the bastard talk…"

They arrived at the lockers, where they were keeping all of their gear. Typically, at most bases, they would have walk-in rooms cluttered with various bins and bags of stuff, but this base was temporary at best. In fact, it was some kind of repurposed center of some sort. Thus, finding things would be harder.

Once Frost let go of her arm, Jenna winced as she started to rub it. He took notice.

"What's wrong?" he inquired, unaware that he was concerned.

"It's nothing! None of your business!" Jenna said, immediately stopping.

"No, it's not nothing. I know you better than that. Show me your arm."

"I'm the medic, remember? I know it's fine!"

"Jenna."

She froze upon hearing him utter her first name. That was a rare occurrence, especially considering how much more professional he acted. And something about it made her feel like she could trust him.

He slid down her sleeve, exposing the opened cuts. He realized what he did for a second, before wondering about how they got there.

"Jenna, why…?" he quietly mumbled, holding her hand as he looked over the injuries.

Jenna averted her eyes shamefully.

"Don't tell me that I can get in trouble, I already know. Just… hurry up and report me already."

"No."

Jenna looked back at him in surprise.

"Huh?"

Frost looked her back intently, making it clear that she should pay attention by looking straight into her eyes.

"No, no. That doesn't solve the problem at all. I asked why."

He wasn't sure what it was, but some kind of strange sensation came over himself. He felt like crying. Why the hell did he feel like crying?

He didn't want to admit it, but he cared.

"Was it… something I did? Did I do something to cause this?"

"No, not at all!"

"I see. Oh, was it that guy? That Ramirez person-?"

"SHUT UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Jenna lashed out, pulling her arm away.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring up something I wasn't supposed to. I'll… stay out of it. I won't make you talk."

Jenna slowly turned back around, only for Frost to suddenly take her by the shoulders and gaze into her eyes yet again.

"Just promise me, you won't do it again… you little dumb shit."

She silently nodded before pulling her sleeve back down and going to throw on her gear. As she walked away, she didn't see that Westbrook's eyes were watering up, just a bit.

"So. Why are we doing this again?" she asked, carefully strapping on her helmet.

"Oh, that's right," Frost replied, reverting back to normal. "We need our pieces to do this, too. Basically gonna reenact the basic Delta mission… when we were back in Afghanistan."

* * *

"We're in position, our target is behind this last door."

"Roger that. Ready nine-banger… execute!"

"Breaching!"

Volk heard the door fly open behind himself. A clattering noise followed as something bounced into the room.

He felt the hard-hitting shockwave of an initial explosion, its force nearly blowing out his eardrums. He shut his eyes, trying to shake away the intense light overtaking his vision.

Already disoriented, he felt a hood pull over his head. Someone forcefully yanked him out of the chair, slammed him against the floor, and ziptied his wrists together.

"_What the-?"_

"He's secure!"

"All right, we'll cover! Move!"

The soldier picked him off the ground and started shoving him along. Volk had no idea what was going on at all as he was led somewhere, until he felt a change in the temperature. He was outside.

The sound of a door opening, and he was thrown into the cold, solid bed of a pickup truck. Someone leapt in the back in him, presumably to watch him.

"C'mon, let's go! Let's go! Hit it!"

The truck took off. Volk slid back and hit the back of the truck as it sped away.

After a ride that felt like an eternity, he was kicked out the back and onto the rock-solid pavement. He struggled a bit as he was picked off the ground, and his handler made sure to bang his head on the side of the vehicle to establish dominance.

The ground beneath his feet went from road to something much softer, likely dirt. He was forced to his knees, feeling the barrel of a rifle pressed against the back of his neck. Someone removed the hood.

His eyes adjusted to his new environment. The only light was that from the full moon, otherwise, he couldn't see much, save what was directly in front of himself.

A hole.

Specifically, a hole perfectly sized to fit him.

"No…"

"_YOU REGRET NOT ANSWERING OUR QUESTIONS NOW, HUH!?" _Frost's voice screamed from behind him, joined by a chorus of brash, angry American voices.

"_FINE! FINE! I WILL! JUST DON'T DO THIS! PLEASE!" _Volk begged.

"Too late."

Volk squeezed his eyes shut, hearing the deafening explosion of a bullet being fired from behind him, probably a pistol. The sound was followed by the rest of the mag being emptied into the grave in front of him, along with multiple weapons being fired on full-auto.

"_MAKAROV IS MEETING HIS ADVISORS! HOTEL LUSTIG IN PRAGUE! I WILL TELL YOU MORE, JUST DON'T KILL ME!"_

"Good enough. Get him outta here. Frost, we'll take it from here. You and Hook did a fine job. Just relay the intel to Price."

* * *

Frost slipped on a headset as he got behind the computer he'd be using to contact Price and his associates.

"He gave us Fregata," he muttered, plugging in his key and waiting to be authenticated. "What the hell are we gonna do with a shipping company?"

After a wait of a few minutes, the contact on the other end finally responded. It didn't sound like what he'd think Price would sound like, at all.

Frost glanced at the text on the screen, and an emblem displayed on it. Apparently, he was talking to a Russian woman, probably Loyalist.

"Who is this?" he inquired.

"3-1, Poacher Group. Spetsnaz."

_What the hell? _he thought, quite confused. He was supposed to be on the line with Price.

He issued an assigned call, hoping to hear the proper response.

"Nebula."

"Alaska."

All right, that was the correct password.

"Frost, Delta Force. You must be working with the 141," Frost said, jotting down on a sticky note that Russians apparently operated with the task force.

"Yes. Under orders from the President, that is, until he disappeared. We're technically Loyalist."

_Just as I thought._

To Frost, the voice sounded awfully familiar. It was a very distinct one, a voice he could never forget. It was soft, gentle, yet somehow haunting in a way. And the callsign, Poacher…

"This is really bothering me, but… do I know you? What is your name, ma'am?"

"Uh, my name? It is Natalia. Natalia… Petro… va… Frost?"

The soldiers on both ends of the net stopped silent. Of all the places to encounter each other again, it would be relaying intel to kill a notorious terrorist. A few months ago, they were enemies, and one was being interrogated the same way Volk was.

"Good to hear from you. Never expected to meet again like this."

Frost sat back in the chair, eyes fixed on the screen, his mind in a different place. He still felt like total shit for what she went through back then. She didn't deserve any of it. In fact, she was just some random draftee caught in a massive shitstorm, and that brought her there, on a mission to kill Makarov himself.

"Yes, I am just glad that we are on the same side now. A-Anyway, you were supposed to send a transmission?"

Natalia felt a strange sensation, one she couldn't quite explain. She didn't quite feel in control of herself. Of all the people in the universe to be passing intel, it was _him?_ She adjusted her mic, trying to focus on something else so she wouldn't have another flashback, back in that room, cuffed to a chair. Yet the way he spoke now was oddly comforting, kind of like the way he came in post-interrogation just to talk.

That was nothing like the guy who gladly put her through torture without a single blink. Who was this man, and why was he such an odd character?

"R-right. Makarov will be at the Hotel Lustig in six hours. We don't know your exact position, but you're in Prague, correct?"

"Yes. In fact, we are quite close. Thank you very much, Frost. Send my regards to your commander, I will patch you through to Price. Please get him on the net."

"Roger that. Good luck out there. Out."

Frost opened the door for Sandman to come in, leaving the headset on the desk for him to use. He didn't quite feel like taking it off, though. It would have been an inappropriate use of the system, but he still wanted to talk to her, apologize for what he'd done. It was something that was really bothering him as of recent.

He felt guilty.

* * *

**That's that. A rushed chapter, made with barely any motivation and a marathon of All Time Low songs. You can tell it's bad from the insane dialog abuse.**

**Basically, this helps bridge the gap between missions and goes more into Frost's interrogation of poor Volk. As you can see, he particularly enjoyed it this time, especially with a douche like that.**

**Jenna's a bit apprehensive of Frost's sadistic behavior, too, yet at the same time seems to be willing to put it aside because it's… Frost. Yeah, that's it.**

**Fun fact: self-harm in the military will get you dishonorably discharged! And if it's in a warzone, detained too! Jenna needs to think things through, or become a more realistic character. Latter probably won't happen, because I'm a shit author!**

**McCoy tryna be slick, but of course, Jenna has the ability to unleash the beast. Not like she likes her either.**

**I might have taken the Jenna X Frost a bit too far here. But Frost at this point has genuinely warmed up to her (pun not intended) and sincerely cares for her now. I'm short of saying he legitimately loves her. But we see a different side to him, how he may be professional but isn't a complete stickler to the rules. **

**I did a bit of researched on enhanced interrogation for this one, and mock executions seemed particularly brutal. Of course, Frost is a brutal guy, and Volk deserved some brutal treatment. Fair enough, right?**

**Now, this was barely mentioned in the first chapter, but Natalia has actually been the radio/comms operator on her team the entire time. Thus, she also gets to operate that fictional system we see in the CoD campaign. I like to assume that it's some kind of weird computer network. Actually, there will be a reference to that in the spinoff fic to this, **_**Winter Sky**_**. **

**Yeah, still not updated. Sorry. I don't feel like I have much reason to do anything, anymore. Hopefully I'll get over it.**

**I apologize for a lackluster chapter, but a loss of motivation and intense writer's block really delayed this one.**

**I know that the depiction of how things work (enhanced interrogation, communications, military conduct) is horribly inaccurate. But I should remind you that this is fiction, specifically an anime-inspired AU twist on my favorite game series. Bear with me, all right?**

**Oh right, a quick shout-out to reader Zues Killer Productions for the massive stream of reviews. After a shortage of feedback, your little comments (especially the Ramirez ones) made my day.**

**By the way, guys, if you don't get the reference in the title of this chapter, I'm just warning you: nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition. **


	28. Apologies

**Unfortunately, this will not be an actual chapter.**

**To those who are still around and actually care about this fic, I sincerely apologize. I know I haven't updated in two months, and yeah, I feel like a douchebag about it.**

**Life's just been kicking me in the balls lately, and I'm struggling to get back on my feet and back in the fight. CAS isn't on station, and the QRF is like, thirty fucking mikes out. No, but really. I'm trying to pull myself out of my worsening depression that's been plaguing me lately, and writer's block is being a bitch.**

**My birthday is tomorrow, things are kinda weird like that. To imagine that this story has been here for a while, growing right along with me, it's pretty amazing. Whoever's left, thank you so much for being along for the ride Rangers Lead the Way has been.**

**This isn't the end, nor is it even a hiatus announcement. I promise I'm trying to get work done on the story. If you guys have any ideas (NOT INVOLVING PAIRINGS YOU WANT), feel free to PM me.**

**I'm starting to feel like the story might be straying from what it originally was: a melancholy drama about two young women swept up by a conflict that affects everyone around them. As much as I love the cute shippy stuff, I'm thinking that I sold out when I brought it in. What separates me from every other "141 Mary Sue falls in love with Soap/Ghost/Roach/whoever" shit? (No offense to you guys, some of those are absolute art. ****_Caught in the System_**** is the shit.)**

**And I feel like a mediocre writer in that the punch behind my story is the way I write my characters and overload dialogue, instead of using legit storytelling and thinking the plot through. Even if it's CoD, it's pretty fucking stupid that a 19-year old girl [EDIT: Recently retconned to 21] somehow manages to get herself alongside Delta Force itself. **

**It's kind of antiquated too, with the Pentagon opening up Ranger School to women and thinking about opening the actual Ranger battalion also. I'll just write it off as an in-universe thing like I always do, being the lazy shit I am.**

**Oh, a big thing here. Natalia's just about as much the star as Jenna in this story, yet I find myself keeping the focus off her arc. Each time I try, it sucks ass or fucks up the plot even more. She has so much potential as a character, yet I can't seem to write her as easily as I can her American counterpart.**

**And it says a lot how the fans (reviewers) always focus on what goes on when it comes to Moore's activities, but don't bring up Petrova much. How often people even forget her name. (I wonder how many people will type her name as "Natasha.") How she's sort of regarded as a minor character. **

**It's sad, really, and I blame it on my bad writing.**

**Anyway, wish me luck in getting this story started again. It's 10:30 at night, my laptop is dying, and I think I have Animal Crossing GCN OST playing in a different tab.**

**-DEFCON-0 (I'm not going back to my old name cx)**

* * *

**UPDATE:**

**Dear Guest who reviewed, sorry I come across as mean. But I'm salty and I literally just put above how it bothers me how people type Natalia as Natasha... yet, you wrote in your review "Natasha" like twice. This is exactly the kinda stuff that makes me wonder why I bother in the first place with her character.**

**To the rest of you guys:**

**Natalia.**

**Na-ta-li-a. **

**Like Natalia Poklonskaya. Or Natalia Kills. Come on. One of these days you're gonna make me kill off Jenna or something to hammer the point home.**


	29. The Wild West

**So after some agonizing, I'm going to reluctantly admit that this is going to be yet another chapter that won't advance the plot in any way. I deeply apologize for the 2-month hiatus. Life likes to kick me in the balls a lot.**

**However, that's just the bad news. The good news is that this is what lots of you guys have been waiting for. Many have been anticipating the return of this series' ensemble darkhorse, Corporal (formerly Private) James Ramirez. I'm pleased to announce that this one's dedicated to him, partly because he deserves it and partly because you guys need to shut the hell up about it. (Love you all~)**

**I've spent lots of my time since July fanboying over the new anime **_**GATE: Thus the JSDF Fought There!**_** but ever since went down for some time for maintenance I decided it was time to return to dedicating myself to this fic. Really though, watch it, especially if you're a military fan. Hell, there's even a character in there like our own Jenna Moore, also a reckless female soldier with an affinity for hand-to-hand. (Her name is Sergeant Shino Kuribayashi, and she's the best waifu in the series… deal with it, Rory fans.)**

**Anyway, without further ado, here's the dank memes. Your regularly scheduled programming (the plot that seems to have broken down and started refusing to move) will continue soon.**

* * *

"Welcome to the Wild West, boys!" a soldier cried, megaphone in hand, greeting the fresh bunch of Rangers stepping off a C-130. "And this is fabulous fuckin' Firebase Phoenix!"

Most of the men were fresh out of RASP, the Ranger Assessment and Selection Program. For some, this was their first actual deployment.

A Private locked eyes with a couple of seasoned Rangers who were scoping out the newcomers. The two different types of Rangers might as well have been from different planets. Veterans with faded, stained uniforms against newbies wearing their still-visible ACUs, sleeves down and all.

They had been judging which of the soldiers coming off the flight would have to be babysat, and who could already operate by big-boy rules. Most of these guys would probably have to settle into the routine out in Afghanistan, but this one particular E-2 had a glare that indicated he could at least hold his own.

One of the veteran Rangers took a glance at this new guy's name tag, making sure to memorize the name embroidered into it. He arose from the olive crate he was using as a seat and approached the man who was holding the megaphone, right as the last few soldiers passed.

"Sarge, you ready see anyone you want as a replacement? You know… for Baker?"

"Actually, Dunn, I do. Keep an eye on that Ramirez kid. Something tells me he knows how to kick ass."

"Huh, roger that. Just sayin', nobody could slay bodies like our boy Baker. But roger that."

He watched as the line of soldiers slowly strolled across the runway.

"Hey, FUCKTARDS!" Dunn boomed, lifting his megaphone. "You guys suck SHIT! GODDAMN, learn to move faster than that! COME ON! FUCKING GET OSCAR MIKE! SPECIAL-ASS LITTLE BITCHES!"

While some of the Rangers looked at each other reluctantly before jogging, Dunn could already see one breaking out into a full sprint.

"Yeah, never mind. I see what you mean."

* * *

Ramirez gritted his teeth, bringing his sights to bear on the final two targets. Once the one in front slid into position to cover the one behind, he let loose a single 7.62 round from his SCAR-H that penetrated the first target and eliminated the other. Threats neutralized, he exhaled momentarily before breaking for the finish, kicking up dust as he ran. He skidded, having to slam against the Hesco barrier wall to finally stop. Shaking it off, a few particles of sweat flew from his face. He caught his breath and turned his eyes towards a visibly impressed Dunn.

"Very impressive, man! You made that course your BITCH!" he grinned, flashing a thumbs-up and knocking on a timer on the wall behind him.

It read 28 seconds.

Ramirez simply nodded, and mumbled a "thanks" in between gulps of air. A bead of sweat slid down his face as he clicked his weapon's safety back on and let it hang on the sling. He started out of The Pit, removing his standard-issue flight gloves and cracking his knuckles.

"Now don't let it get to your head," a nearby Ranger leaning against the wall said. "Couple of dudes ran this thing a little while back and one did it in 18.26 seconds. Some other guy did it in 18.28… makes our D-Boys look like they move in slow motion."

He shrugged it off and kept walking as the next guy in line descended the stairs to run the course.

"Hey, wait, wait! I was just messing with you, bro!" the soldier continued, jogging to keep up with Ramirez.

Ramirez sighed, rolled his eyes, and spun around to face him.

"Need something…?"

"Yo, name's Allen. Corporal Joseph Allen. Guessing you're one of the new kids?"

"Yeah."

Allen looked him up and down before shaking his head.

"Don't act like you're all that. What? I'm not good enough for you to talk to me? Goddamn, I was joking at first, but you're turning out to be a stuck-up prick."

"Can you stop bothering me?" Ramirez snapped.

Allen's eyes narrowed at the irritated response, and he immediately stepped in front of the newbie.

"You wanna say that again to me? You need to watch yourself. You're meat out here, and we'll tear you the fuck apart if you wanna be a little bitch."

"Get out of my way, please."

"Much obliged."

Allen jogged off towards the motor pool, where the Rangers were busy at work pimping out their Humvees. Ramirez continued on a few steps before something hit him in the back of the head, and he suddenly found himself face down in the dirt. His hand trembled as he checked the throbbing soreness he was feeling. He felt something sticky on his fingers, something that was starting to make the hair clump up.

Turning around, he struggled to focus on a shiny object on the ground a short way away. It had to be a wrench or something like that. The soldiers at the motor pool were starting to crowd, all of them watching someone. Who was it? Everyone was blurring together.

"Holy shit, Allen just dropped that new kid!"

"They're gonna throw down, bro."

"Shit, naw, he can't even look straight!"

Ramirez slowly arose, wobbling as he tried to keep his balance. Standing up, he finally saw Allen striding right towards him menacingly. Ramirez glared at the approaching man, balling his fists.

"All right… you really wanna try me? You going there?"

Allen merely continued forward, throwing his first punch. Ramirez tried to block it, but was too late, quickly being knocked back onto the ground. Dazed, he could hear the laughter as Allen spat and walked away.

Ramirez promptly came to his senses, quickly rolling onto his stomach as his arm shot out to Allen's foot. He grabbed hold of his shoelace, yanking on it and wrapping it around the other ankle. Allen slammed onto the ground, Ramirez instantly jumping right onto him. The spectators gasped as he turned Allen over and started hitting him across the face repeatedly.

Someone swooped in from behind and grabbed hold of him, pulling him off. He threw a few more defiant swings before ceasing, collapsing into the person behind him. Allen writhed in pain on the ground, a soldier immediately running over and kneeling over him.

Ramirez himself glanced back at the guy holding him back.

"Corporal… Dunn?"

"What the fuck do you think you were doing, Private!?" he growled, letting go. "Just got here and already starting shit."

A deeper voice responded.

"Now, now, Corporal. We'll give the boy time to explain, it's only fair, knowing how Allen is. What we need to focus on first is that cut on his head. The entire back of his neck is red, we need to get that fixed."

Ramirez ran his fingers there, his hand becoming wet with blood. Foley approached, handing him a torn piece of cloth to hold against it.

_And to think… the first guy to draw my blood wasn't the enemy._

* * *

"We're outta breaching charges!"

"Here! Use this!"

The toothed muzzle of a breaching shotgun pressed into the hinges of the door, easily blasting it away. Another soldier kicked it down as the shotgunner racked his pump, waiting for a third man to do his job.

"Ramirez! Flash!"

The M84 stun grenade bounced into the building, coming to rest in a puddle. Nearby were a handful of metal containers, tipped over and spilling gasoline onto the floor.

"Shit! Guys! Outta the way!"

The soldiers went for cover as the flashbang detonated, igniting the gasoline and setting the floor aflame.

"Motherfuckers!" Dunn grunted, quickly glancing around. "Come on, guys, this way!"

Throwing an empty mag aside, Foley locked a new one into his M4A1 as a radio transmission came his way.

"Hunter 2-1, this is Overlord, gimme a sitrep."

"We attempted breaching compound Bravo at the north entrance, but the bastards kicked over some gas cans knowing we'd toss a flash in! We're on foot and moving to secure our man Sphinx! We've got him cornered!"

AK fire erupted from the rooftops, as hostile fighters began to open up on the Rangers below.

"Alley, left!"

Ramirez snapped his attention to the enemies, flicking his fire selector to auto and suppressing them for a moment before breaking for the alleyway.

"Shit, they got _us_ cornered now," Allen coughed, frowning at Ramirez. "Why the fuck did you throw it if you saw the cans?"

"Sorry, all right? I just followed the order and didn't bother to notice!"

_He's still pissy that I got his ass demoted, that's why._

"Shut the fuck up, let's MOVE!" Dunn screamed, looking back before following Foley.

"Hey, 2-1, this is Cyclone 0-1, we saw him go for a white van, just around the corner. We'll take the pressure off you, no prob."

The buzzing of Cyclone's 7.62 miniguns above drowned out Foley's orders, but it was obvious that they had to stop their target from leaving.

"Motherfuck!" Ramirez snapped as the Little Bird's brass tumbled down onto him, the searing heat of a casing burning its way down his neck.

"Don't let him get away- what the fuck is he doing!?"

Their man stepped away from the van, a cell phone in his hand. Panicking, he darted off, about to hit the right number key on his phone.

"IED!"

Ramirez darted towards the man as his fireteam scrambled for cover, though nothing would provide protection from a car bomb in the immediate vicinity.

"Witness me, bitch!" he yelled, launching himself at the escaping insurgent.

He tackled the man, the momentum of his body armor allowing him to bring him to the ground. They struggled, rolling around and wrestling to get to the phone. They found themselves locked in a stalemate, with Sphinx's hand dangerously close to the device, and Ramirez right on top of him. If he released any weight, Sphinx would have been able to grab it.

Ramirez reached for his knife, giving his opponent the chance to get hold of the ancient Nokia. But before he could bring it into sight and find the right key, Ramirez brought the knife down, jamming it straight into his arm and pinning it to the ground. As Sphinx yelled in pain and clutched at the bayonet, Ramirez kicked the phone away, drawing his pistol and pressing it into the terrorist's head.

"Don't you move! Don't you do it, pal! I assure you, your seventy-two virgins are all bronies!"

Foley looked up from the ground to find Ramirez over their target, flexcuffing him.

"C'mon boys, let's get him!" he ordered, keying his radio. "We've secured Sphinx and are prepping him for extraction, but we need EOD here ASAP! Get me medevac, too, we have two eagles injured, repeat, eagles injured."

Ramirez staggered back into a nearby wall, leaning against it momentarily. He watched Dunn as he did his best to stop the bleeding from the man's arm. And to believe that he would have detonated the bomb and killed them all.

"Nicely done, Ramirez," Foley said, walking up. "I'm sure that wasn't an easy choice to make… but I'm also sure that was the right one. Your reckless ass saved us all."

Ramirez nodded, unable to choke out a response between his gulps of air.

"All right, he's in our hands, guys! Let's go home, eat some cookies, or beat up the ANA guys if they ate our cookies!"

The Humvees pulled up, and Foley opened the door for Ramirez.

"Go on in, you've earned it. Allen, you have not. You walk."

Foley waited for Allen's face to display his disdain before chuckling.

"I'm kidding, Allen, you can ride."

The PFC's face lit up.

"Now, get on the turret."

A visible attempt to hold in a sigh.

It wasn't too long before the Rangers were back on the road and headed back for the base. No more worrying about IEDs, or RPGs, or anything of the sort. They were finally back on blue turf. For good measure, they had an MRAP vehicle leading the convoy, anyway.

"Ramirez," Dunn said, his eyes fixated on the vehicle in front, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel. "Where you from?"

The soldier glared at Dunn through the mirror. The Corporal glanced up, noticing his irritable expression in response to the question.

"No, don't take it that way. It's got nothing to do with your last name. I know you get that a lot. But like, I'm from Houston. There you go."

"Seattle."

"Huh. And to think you'd end up in the desert like this. We haven't had rain since… goddamn, there's been none on this deployment!"

Foley continued the conversation, still on the topic of the Private's origins.

"What made you enlist?"

Ramirez wasn't too keen on telling anyone his entire life story, but the ride back was going to take hours, and there wasn't too much for him to blow his time on.

"Well… I'm not gonna lie. I was kind of a good 'ole red-blooded American boy type. Baseball, apple pie, Mom, all that fuckery. A lot of guys were surprised I wasn't from the Midwest."

"Yeah? You don't come across that way at all."

"Well, I wasn't fucked by the big green weenie yet."

"I wouldn't put it that way, Private… but I feel ya."

"Anyway, I was still in school during _the war_ and got pretty pissed off when I saw that nuke go off. There were two camps, the 'let's go fuck up those raghead shits' type, and the 'whatever, they died fighting for oil' type. I was firmly in the first group. I was kind of a motard…"

"Oil, my ass. All I see here is sand… sand… more fucking sand… sand plugging my dickhole, and it would clog my anus if we weren't getting fucked all the time," Dunn muttered.

"You guys sound like Marines right now. You'll be drawing dicks on the Humvee in no time," Allen called from above.

Awkward silence.

"But… you know, I was kind of a problem child," Ramirez continued. "I didn't pick fights. But everyone loved to bully me the entire time I was in school. I couldn't help it. I _can't_ help it."

Dunn nodded, his eyes lighting up once he figured out a much more interesting topic to grill Ramirez on.

"So. You got a girl back home?"

"Nope."

A prompt response.

"You shut that one down really quickly, Ramirez. You _sure_ about that?"

"Yeah," Ramirez affirmed. "I don't have time in my life for any of that kinda thing. Just another reason to hate my life, really. Besides, I can't imagine that girls could like a pussy like me."

Dunn instantly whipped around in his seat, for once moving his glance from the road.

"What the FUCK!? _Pussy_ my Ranger-panty ass! You fucked up our man so hard back there, that all we gotta do when interrogating him is drag you in and watch him piss himself!"

"Shit! DUNN!"

"Huh?"

The Humvee's front bumper rammed the rear of the vehicle in front of them. Its occupants lurched forward. A rosary wrapped around the mirror fell off, as various objects on the dashboard ended up on the floor.

"DUNN! WHAT THE HELL!" Allen snapped from above. "My fuckin' lip's bleeding now because I hit it on the .50!"

Ramirez heard muffled shouting from the Humvee they hit.

"Yo, they're telling you to stop eating C4 and learn how to drive..." Allen added.

"Aha!" Dunn triumphantly said, holding up a piece of paper.

Ramirez wondered where he produced it from. His eyes jumped to the backpack on Dunn's lap, a backpack with the last name "Ramirez" scribbled onto a piece of tape.

"Who's this?"

He remained silent. Dunn hadn't flipped it around yet, so he didn't see the "from Jamie Ramirez" written on the back.

"She's hot, dude. Nicely done."

Ramirez twitched at the notion. He was tolerant of some pretty kinky shit, but he drew the line somewhere between incest and lolicon.

"Wait a sec. She's got your eyes. _Why the hell does she have your eyes?_"

The Private sighed, staring out the window. His job sucked, and so did his coworkers.

He heard faint music coming from behind himself. Allen was obviously intrigued himself, swinging his turret around to get a glance.

"Yo, he's sitting up on the hatch," he reported, squinting to get a closer look. "Is he holding a guitar?"

"You gotta be kidding me," Foley grunted.

The radio in the Humvee transmitted a message making it clear what was going on.

"Yo, 2-3, tell your man to get back into his vehicle! And put the spray paint away!"

"What is with this platoon's obsession with that movie?"

"To be fair, Sergeant, it did come out earlier this year…"

All right, maybe Ramirez's coworkers weren't _that_ bad.

* * *

Ramirez was returning from a training session with the Afghan National Army guys he was assigned to teach for the day. Of course, as usual, they hadn't listened, and still stuck their guns above their heads like idiots. Especially one guy, who decided it was funny to stick his AK between his legs and fire it.

"God damn it, Spanky…" Ramirez mumbled.

"Yo, Ramirez!" Keating called out from the basketball court, passing the ball to Macey. "You heard the news?"

"What?" Ramirez asked, Macey rhythmically dribbling before making a shot in the background. "News?"

"Yeah," Macey said, Keating going to retrieve the ball. "It's probably the hottest thing on base right now, save those prima-donna squad guys who ran The Pit."

"There's something more interesting than Shepherd's lapdog selection?"

"Right. Yo, Keating, ball. You get to tell him."

Keating went up to Ramirez and decided he'd put it as bluntly as he could.

"We're getting pussy on this base."

"…what?"

"Yeah, you missed the briefing, didn't you?"

Ramirez shrugged, smirking as he averted his eyes.

"Hey, well, there's a reason I 'accidentally' switched out the training frags with potatoes. I think having to go through these stupid briefings is more of a punishment than having to teach Spanky."

"God dammit Spanky," the two basketball players groaned in unison.

"No, but really. It was Stelara's idea. We're getting a female in our unit sometime soon, she's inbound today," Keating continued. "67-Whiskey. Medic."

Macey spat, frowning at Ramirez.

"Yeah. In fact, she actually showed up today and made sure to yell at us. We're not supposed to make friends with the new girl."

Stelara was some stupid officer who liked to make it clear that she was around to push politics and nothing else. It was rumored that one time she had flipped out on some poor guy by kicking down the door and forcing him out of a porta-shitter. She said it was because he was going to whack it off in there and was wasting time, when in reality his body had finally decided to eject the MREs he ate, like, three days before. And when he got understandably pissed, she muttered something about "male tears" before laughing and strutting away.

At least, if Dunn's word was true. Dunn talked shit about all of the officers he knew, from General Shepherd's "swallowed-too-many-cocks-last-night" raspy voice to Colonel Marshall's "constipated-looking-gorilla" face.

"Bradford was here, too," Keating mentioned. "At least someone was making sense there. He basically told us to show her that we're not exactly the kind of pansy-ass unit she'd belong in."

"EXCUSE ME!?"

All three looked behind themselves to find the devil herself standing right there, having overheard their conversation.

"Uh, Stelara, ma'am! Now, don't take it the wrong way. We were just quoting Bradford…"

"Cut the fucking excuses and get back in your lane. Your pasty white cracker asses won't get why the new girl's here until she sends more OpFor running faster than you Boy Scouts did this whole year. Don't act like your job's that hard."

Ramirez had never seen the woman himself, only having heard of her. But looking at her, she was a walking stereotype. She even had the "problem glasses." With recruitment levels at an all-time low, these were the kind of idiots who were in the military these days.

He sighed. A candidate she dragged in probably would be hell on earth. He took a moment to visualize her – probably some POG with a buzz cut who would constantly brag about how she went through RASP like three times, can run in heels, and constantly try to one-up them. She would probably lose a pissing contest really easily, or freeze during the cold winter months when she had to join what they called the "silverware drawer." That was when a whole row of soldiers would spoon each other to keep warm. Or maybe she'd just get "triggered" by the massive amount of dicks drawn inside the porta-shitters everywhere and have to be hauled off and discharged.

He went to make sure Shepherd wasn't around, just so he could run The Pit by himself. As of recent, the General was supervising the kill house, having his wannabe-Blackwater contactors record the names of people he wanted for what everyone was calling the "prima-donna squad."

Those weirdos, with their black BDUs and coyote kit. Looked like Iraqi Special Forces, except with more balaclava. They had a habit of being all pompous and refusing to talk to the Rangers. As if they would be tasked with some important kind of thing, like saving the White House or something.

As if that would happen.

Fortunately, no one was there, save Dunn, so Ramirez was able to run the course without being judged. He'd improved his timing, to the point where he could run the entire course without stopping at all. Shooting on the move was tricky, but boredom produces amazing results.

He picked up a large rock and set it down near the gate as a prank for the next sap to run the course, before starting off himself.

Once he was done, the Corporal stepped down from the observation nest.

"Yo, Ramirez, can you do me a favor?"

"Dunn?

"Yeah, well, it's about the new recruit coming in…"

_Aw, fuck me!_

"See, it's my job to greet her. But I don't want to come across as intimidating because I'm a higher rank or something like that. Especially if Stelara saw… she'd have my balls for that. So, uh, you wouldn't mind welcoming her first? Then bringing her to me?" You're a Private too. Shouldn't be too bad."

Ramirez sighed. He was trying his best to avoid this person, but Dunn was a good friend and helped him a lot when it came to training and such.

"Sure thing."

"Cool. Anyway, um, you might wanna keep in mind that she's got a rep."

"Huh?"

"Yeah. You might wanna be a bit careful. I've heard she's got a thing for mouthing off a whole lot and generally picking fights with people. Not gonna lie, I'm hoping they don't stick her with our squad. But we're short a guy ever since Grant needed treatment for getting burned by the gasoline fire a while back. So… maybe get used to her."

"Roger that."

He had an hour or so before she arrived. He decided to stop by his tent so he could grab his iPod and jam out while waiting. He sat on his cot, clicking through his horribly unorganized playlists. Slowly, he drifted in and out of focus, before passing out cold.

* * *

"RAMIREZ!"

He quickly arose, instinctively bringing his weapon to bear despite not holding one.

"Mom? What's going on!?" he yelled, still half-asleep. "We been ambushed?"

"Goddamn it, how many times do I have to say to stop calling me… whatever! Dunn needs you at the airstrip, come on!"

_Riiiiiight._

"Thanks, Sergeant!" Ramirez quickly whispered before dashing out of the tent.

He arrived at the airstrip, winded and wishing he'd taken one of the Humvees or something. He saw a slim, yet athletic figure making its way from a C-130, and a small cluster of larger-framed people approaching it.

"That can't be good," he wheezed, jogging towards them.

He got closer, getting an eyeful of the dreaded succubus. As he approached, he heard condescending tones and obnoxious cackling coming from the men.

The girl was quite different than he expected, though.

He was sort of right about the short hair, although it wasn't exactly short-short. More like an almost-shoulder length shaggy mess of auburn. Her ACU top was off, so she was down to her tan undershirt, revealing that her chest size would be an unfortunate disappointment to a few optimistic Rangers. She had a soft face, yet the bandage across the bridge of her nose and another patch on her cheek said she was anything _but_ soft. Her doe-eyed stare went to a death glare as the guys harassed her, and Ramirez half-expected her hazel irises to turn red or something.

He wasn't sure if she was just cute because he hadn't seen a girl in a while, or because she was genuinely pretty. A double take convinced him that she was gorgeous, although not the type who would know it.

"…I see they're issuing hookers now," Ramirez overheard a soldier comment.

"Great, the last thing we need. A _liability_," Allen scoffed. "Looking forward to having to haul your pretty little ass out of an ambush."

Ramirez balled his fists, suddenly seeing the FNG's tiny hands do the same. Weird… he never noticed anyone else do that until just then.

Against his better judgement, and knowing that Stelara probably picked this woman as her little social experiment, Ramirez decided to stand up for her anyway. His gut told him that maybe she _wasn't _the special snowflake girl he was expecting in the first place.

"Screw off, Allen," he growled. "You want her to remember this when you get your dick blown off?"

"Ooh, look at the chivalrous Knight James Ramirez, sticking up for the maidens ever since he was 10," Allen mocked, raising his hands. "How many times did your ass get handed to you since then?"

He was about to beat Allen's shit again, but he made momentary eye contact with the girl. And for whatever reason, he decided not to. Those eyes said both "please don't" and "let me handle him" simultaneously.

"Anyway, my money says she'll get knocked up before the end of the deployment."

When they left, Ramirez saw just out of the corner of his eye a very salty officer headed for them. Grinning, he turned to the newbie to greet her. At this point, he felt kind of bad, especially considering his treatment when he first showed up. He figured it best to get on her good side, even if she wasn't likable.

"So, uhh, you're the new medic, right?"

_FUCKING DIPSHIT, JAMES! SHUT UP ALREADY! FUCK! DUMBASS!_

"No, that was a stupid question," he immediately apologized, slapping his forehead and resisting every urge to hit himself hard enough to die.

He extended his hand.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Private Ramirez, but you can call me James."

_WHY THE HELL DO YOU WANT HER TO CALL YOU BY FIRST NAME!?_

"Looking forward to working with you, Private…"

She accepted the handshake, placing her petite hand into his. It was coarse like any soldier's, yet her grip was soft and gentle. Did she see combat in her last unit? She seemed like the type.

Her voice was very youthful, and wouldn't sound out of place stuttering back an order over a McDonald's drive-thru or something. Or talking about the newest album some random post-hardcore band released recently.

"Moore, Jenna Moore."

Jenna. Jen-na. Pretty name. Easy to remember.

"Moore. Hey, I'm really sorry about Allen. He doesn't know when to stop sometimes. Pisses me off how much of an egotistical asshole he is," Ramirez explained, recalling his first experience on base.

Footsteps grew louder behind him, and the heavy step was a familiar one.

"Aww, ain't that cute, Jim," Dunn chuckled, putting his arm around his neck. "You have a crush on the new girl."

Ramirez flashed Dunn his evil eye, trying to resist the urge to scream that he absolutely didn't. But that would be rude, and overall a douche thing to say.

"Oh… you must be Private Moore. I'm Corporal Dunn, I'm the tour guide for this dump," the Corporal continued. "But it's not just any dump. It's _our_dump, which makes it better than the one the SEALs have."

Ramirez smiled, recalling the many times Dunn bitched about pulling security for Tier One missions. Always the QRF for DEVGRU, or being picked to mop up whatever Delta didn't annihilate with their coal-stirring steel cocks.

Dunn nodded in thanks, leading the female soldier away to explore their installation. Ramirez nearly stepped forwards to follow so he too could converse with her. He stopped himself before doing so.

Why was he so interested in this girl?

Was it because he'd finally found someone he could make friends with in that entire stupid country?

* * *

"…thirty," Ramirez mumbled, snapping the final 5.56 round into the magazine he was loading.

Loading PMAGs by sticking rounds in one by one took a while, but the stripper clips they used to load mags kept disappearing, and it wasn't like anyone was going anywhere anytime soon.

Dunn was sitting nearby, cleaning off his sidearm. Foley came out of nowhere, tapped him on the shoulder, told him something, and immediately left.

"AW, FUCK ME!" Dunn complained.

"What!?" Ramirez asked, the cry of irritation making him drop a round into the dirt.

"Dude, remember what I said the other day? Called it. They stuck her in our squad. As if putting up with Allen's shit wasn't annoying enough."

"She can't be _that _bad, dude."

Moore showed up soon enough. She looked very much like a newcomer, still dressed like the poster child of a 2011 Army recruitment ad. Full ACUs, sleeves down, collar up, no bullshit. Her plate carrier wasn't even set up and was still in its default configuration. Standard-issue sage green flight gloves. ACH helmet. All gear a grunt would rock. She stood in stark contrast to the Rangers, many of whom having switched over to newer kit. Combat shirts, Ops-Core helmets, Oakley gloves, pimped-out rigs, the standard tactical fashion.

"Seriously? They didn't even issue her new gear! _They didn't issue her new gear!_" Dunn panicked, standing up and spinning around. "What do they think they're doing? Ramirez, they gave you your stuff right off the bat when you showed up, right?"

"Don't mind him," Ramirez shrugged, ignoring Dunn's loss of sanity. "He's like that sometimes. Happens when he hasn't had his dip. I, for one, am a Rip-Its man, but…"

Music started blaring nearby from the motor pool, and a wave of soldiers crashed onto the fleet of Humvees. An officer in his combat gear slammed on the hood of a vehicle multiple times, waving his hand in circles in the air to rally the troops. Foley arrived, buckling his helmet's chinstrap and nodding.

"We're oscar mike, people. Shouldn't be anything new to you, Moore. Same shit you've done for two years. On me, guys!"

"Hooah!" Dunn and Ramirez called in unison.

Reaching the Humvee, Dunn promptly took his place in the driver's seat. Ramirez took his place up on the minigun, much to Wade's protest. Hopping into the back seat, Jenna was slightly put off by it. Normal grunts hated turret duty. The Rangers seemed much more pumped up to be killing shit. The Humvee nearby blasting Sabaton out of a few loudspeakers jury-rigged to it definitely wasn't normal.

"C'mon baby, work with me here," Dunn grumbled, starting the vehicle. "Moore, we like to call her the War Rig. Been through so much, and if you look around you can even find a few blood stains from the previous owners."

A pair of fuzzy dice tangled around the mirror danced, intertwining with a rosary sharing the same spot as the Humvee began to move. A random toy dinosaur on the dashboard jiggled as the vehicle rumbled into position in the convoy. There was a photo of some girl taped to the windshield… she looked a bit like Ramirez. Dunn reached for a tin nearby, momentarily taking a hand off the wheel to pack it, then sticking some of the tobacco in his mouth.

Ramirez was right in that every soldier had his or her vice. Dunn's was tobacco, his own was energy drinks in general. What was Moore's? She was a grunt, too, so she had to have something of her own to rely on.

He felt a tug on his leg. Looking back down into the vehicle, he saw Moore's hand offering him a shiny, flat object.

"Uh, Ramirez… gum?"

He accepted the offer, thanking her. Gum wasn't something he had for a while, at least not the kind in MREs. They said that laxative gum was just a myth, but he didn't want to take his chances at all. He avoided the port-a-shitters like a plague and only used them when absolutely necessary.

"Look alive. We're entering the city," Foley said.

* * *

_Goddamn, _Ramirez thought, climbing back into another vehicle, hearing the intense gunfire around himself.

He took off his shemagh scarf, rolling it up and shoving it into his pocket. It was all sweaty already, despite the fact that he was only out for thirty minutes or so. Everything went awry, one of the Afghan guys tipping off the OpFor of the upcoming operation. Next thing came a heavy ambush that caught everyone with their pants down.

"So much for being HUNTER 2-1, huh…?" he panted, glancing backwards as they pulled out and went back across the bridge the convoy crossed earlier. "More like prey."

"_Seid ihr das Essen? Nein, wir sind der __Jäger_."

"Hey, I recognize that!"

Ramirez's sentence, however, was drowned out by a massive boom behind themselves. Wade swung around on the turret to look back, apprehensively spinning up the minigun's barrels.

"Shit, man! They blew the bridge!" he yelled, followed by a few bursts of fire. "Goddamn, they got away!"

The surviving vehicles limped back to base, some damaged, others packed with wounded. The silence inside the Humvee was painfully eerie. Ramirez decided to initiate small talk with Moore, having had nothing else to do.

"Moore. You handled that like it's happened before… I think Foley mentioned that it's not new to you. What did you do in your last unit?"

"Oh, I, uh," Jenna stammered, being snapped out of a daze. "Well I was a combat medic, saw plenty of action myself. My deployment was supposed to be over, but instead they picked me to try out for the Regiment. And then… they stuck me right back here."

All right. So she _had_ seen combat. Explains her no-fucks-given attitude rare among most of the females Ramirez met in the military. Grunts were a different breed. Constantly addicted to some vice, always practicing their shooting in some way, drawing dicks on everything imaginable, all things so far from civilian culture. Isolation from the public brought out everyone's vulnerabilities.

"How old are you, then? You've been in for two years, but you look like you're fresh out of high school."

"Actually, I'm turning 21 in a month or so. It's funny how I can't legally own a firearm, yet I've been spending time with them since I joined at 18."

"Where you from, anyway? Like, not your previous unit. What state?"

Moore's eyes glazed over momentarily before she closed them and shuddered. She obviously didn't have good memories of home.

"Uh, Arizona. At least, that's the place I've spent the most time in. I was born on some base, somewhere. My parents moved around a lot, but since they were both in, they had to find someone to drop me off with."

"Gotcha. So why did you enlist in the first place?"

Moore shifted in her seat at the question, unsure of how to answer. She was increasingly becoming uncomfortable, and Ramirez decided to stop asking questions.

"Well, it's a long story, really. I-… I-…"

Tears welled up in her eyes. She immediately averted her stare, turning her head to look out the window. Ramirez heard a tiny sniffle, watching her hand slide over to her mouth.

"…I'm sorry. That's something for another time. I'm not going to talk about it."

"No, I'm the one who should be sorry! I shouldn't have brought it up."

Moore turned back around, shaking her head. She smiled weakly, obviously trying not to cry.

"No, really. I'm fine."

Only then did Ramirez really first start to care for her. She kept up her tough-girl façade, but she was still vulnerable. Something in her past wasn't right. Typically, Ramirez turned a blind eye to his comrades' troubles. He felt that making friends would make it so much harder to let go of them when death arrived. He spent his own time pushing people away, just like she did. Something about that struck him. Until then, he didn't give two shits about Moore.

And the way she looked at him, gazing into his eyes like that, trying her best to be sincere. She didn't want to be a burden to anybody. He felt kind of guilty for his previous expectations and perceptions of her. Not at all was she the brash, rude bitch he took her to be at first.

She wiped away her tears, shaking off her sadness. Then, she truly smiled. Not her smug, shit-eating grin he'd come to know later after spending more time with her. Not the glint of mischief in her face when the two were causing hijinks. No, it was a face that was forever burned into his memory. The face he'd recall much later, looking back on the girl he made the mistake of falling in love with.

It was a bright-eyed smile. A small spark of happiness still left somewhere in there, her top teeth revealing themselves through a mouth slightly open with excitement. And whenever she smiled that way, her eyes would always close momentarily, as if to bask in the moment.

Suddenly, Ramirez found himself in the present. He wasn't in Afghanistan anymore. He was sitting in a Humvee as always, but somewhere in Europe, not the Middle East.

He got a well-deserved promotion to Corporal, meaning that he was transferred out of his old squadron into a new one. He was separated from the men that he had fought alongside during the invasion.

Even worse, he was separated from Jenna.

_Jenna._

He should have known better than to love her. She was unpredictable, volatile. She slept with Allen not too long after showing up in the first place. The night before she left for Delta, she spent time with Ramirez, too.

_I thought we had something!_

He wasn't sure what the feeling was between them that night. He thought it was love, the way that they kissed, the way Jenna giggled as she nuzzled her face into his chest when it was done. He didn't want it to be lust – just her choosing the closest guy to fuck before leaving to a unit where that would have been absolutely forbidden.

Yet, he became increasingly afraid that it was pity. Pity sex because he loved her, but she didn't love him back. Because her heart belonged to that Frost guy instead. Because she couldn't outright admit that she didn't like him _that_ way.

He realized that she never told him the story. Her past, the one that haunted her so much throughout the time they spent together. He knew she'd never tell him that story, not anymore.

But that wasn't all he didn't know.

He had no idea how devastated Jenna was when he left her behind. He had no idea how afraid she was of losing another person close to her, after she lost Brooke in DC. He had no idea of the injury she inflicted on herself because of the pain. He had no idea that her heart didn't belong just to Frost.

He had no idea that she loved him back.

* * *

**Well, I've finally wrapped this chapter up. Took forever… but it's done.**

**Yeah, so there's what you guys have been waiting for. Sorry if it's not as good as it could have been, but I needed to get past some severe writer's block to get it done. **

**So there's Ramirez's story, more or less. What his life was like before Jenna showed up and changed it, and where he is now. (Sorta.)**

**Kinda sucks how he has absolutely no idea how much she cares for him. Sure, she most definitely loves Frost, but she can't leave behind the guy who was there for her the whole time she fought with the Rangers.**

**Anyway, I'm tired, it's midnight, and I'll likely update this A/N later. Life has been utter shit lately to me, and my depression keeps getting better before severely worsening. But I do this, I write this out of love for you, my wonderful readers~!**

**Oh, right, I've finally revealed Jenna's age. She's 21 at this point in the story. She was originally 19, but that made… not much sense. I retconned it, so now she's 21.**

***1984 intensifies***

"**Jenna is 21. She has always been 21."**

**Kek. Anyway, get ready for next chap. Actually… don't. Hell knows when it's coming. But you'll bet that they're gonna drop the Soap.**

**Catch the various Mad Max: Fury Road references throughout this chapter, and you get a free box of staples. The "you walk" thing between Foley and Allen, stolen from CoD: World At War. Spanky is based off this video I saw, combat footage in Afghanistan of Marines and ANA. I'll put the title up sometime for you guys, it's funny how silly Spanky the ANA soldier acts in combat.**

**By the way, guys... thanks for 15,000 views. Special thanks to those who've stuck with me through this bullshit of a story.**


	30. Gone (King) Fishing

**Well, I haven't updated since November, and felt maybe a bit bad for whatever's left of my reader base. Belated happy holidays, happy new year, whole shebang. **

**Hope you guys enjoyed the lovey dovey fluffy while it lasted, because I'm going to be toning that down for a little while. This fic needs to get back on track. Plus, I'm regretting the whole choice to ship OC with canon characters. It's overdone as hell.**

**Also, I hope you guys got enough of Jenna's antics for a bit. Natalia's going to be in the spotlight for some time.**

**(I feel like I lost half of my readers with that A/N… deal with it.)**

**EDIT: Apparently I lost a follower with this update. Fourty keks. I was right.**

* * *

"Koslov, Chernenko and I are in position. We've confirmed that Bravo One is posted up with eyes on Kingfish. You sure they won't find us here?"

"Affirmative. We've made sure to establish that it's clear and occupied by friendly forces. Technically… not a lie. You know how to identify us, just look for the blue chemlights on our vests, upper right on the front. Kuznetsov's on overwatch with an SV-98 trained on your building. Anyone knocks on the door, weapons free, and make sure they don't get up."

"Wilco. As for Kamarov, we'll pull security while he moves to the X."

"Remember, if it hits the fan, we're relying on one of you to get a flare on Kingfish's vehicle so he can't escape when Archangel levels that whole block. And, uh… stay safe out there, guys."

Peter slid in next to Natalia, took her boom mic, and held it closer to himself.

"We've faced the goddamn Rangers, I don't think Makarov's little mooks can offer much threat to us. Out."

Natalia stamped out her cigarette with her boot, yawning as she took off her headset. She rubbed her eyes, going over to the other side of the room to throw on her RRV rig. Poacher Group was given access to Western equipment, which took some getting used to. On top of that, she was particularly a petite kind of person (for a soldier at least), so she struggled to pull the straps on her gear so it would fit. Gear designed for stocky American men, instead of tiny Russian women.

"I didn't know you could integrate the back panel of an MBSS into that thing," Peter said, referring to the plate carrier Natalia had combined her standard chest rig with. "You still tired or something? After your little nap in the chopper?"

Natalia rolled her eyes, jamming her radio into a pouch on her vest without bothering to look up. She felt irritable at the moment and didn't feel like conversing, especially due to her rude awakening. She didn't quite expect to wake up lying on Koslov's lap, much less awoken by a subsequent (yet accidental) reactionary knee into her head.

"I've been staying up on nothing but knockoff Monster spiked with sugar from my rations, you think I'm feeling fucking sunny?" she snapped.

"Christ, Natalie. No need to be so hostile. You want to sleep, fine by me. I'll wake you up."

Kamarov entered the room, greeting both soldiers. Then the door opened, and in walked Koslov's former sergeant.

_Pavel was right. His smell precedes him, _Natalia recalled, exhaling amusingly through her nose with a smirk.

"Petrova, was it? You remind me of Koslov. You're a whole bunch like him when he was a fresh FNG in our squadron," Kamarov reminisced, an air of nostalgia suddenly coming over him. "He was always pretty much done with putting up with shit. When everyone else was panicking and scrambling to flush an enemy sniper out of a nest, he would sigh and send an RPG at the bad guy's position."

Natalia tried to hold it in, but she couldn't suppress her laugh very well. She allowed herself to giggle quietly, covering her mouth. She didn't quite want to laugh, but Kamarov's description of Pavel was absolutely spot-on.

"No, I'm nowhere near as brave as he is," she denied, her humble vision of herself contradicting Kamarov's impression. "Actually, Peter… you can tell him about it."

Peter grinned, slowly getting up and strolling over to Natalia. He reached for her radio, pulled it out, and dangled it by its cord.

"Natalie over here… used to be so shy, that when we assigned her the task of being our commo girl, all she did was sit there, smiling at the ground. She didn't want to, but at that point we knew she wasn't going to protest."

"How the hell did you make it through basic training!?" Kamarov interjected, raising an eyebrow at the female soldier.

"Hey," Natalia responded, shoving her hands into her pockets and shrugging. "I have no idea, either. I'm just a draftee. I didn't choose any of this."

"Ah, but that's the thing, kid," Kamarov warmly chuckled, towering over her and placing a reassuring hand onto her shoulder. "Now you will be making history. You might not be a heroine to Russia. But you will be killing the madman who murdered our people and started a war with America."

Natalia cringed, instantly recalling her experience in the US and grabbing her wrist. Her grip tightened as she gritted her teeth. Sighing, she gently ran her hand through her hair, brushing her bangs aside.

"At what cost?" she mumbled, rubbing the fingernail marks she left in her arm. "They can't bring back the person who once stood in my place. This isn't my life anymore, I am a different person now. I've changed… not for the better, either."

Peter spoke up, surprisingly more serious this time despite being his usual lighthearted self moments ago.

"Natalie, listen to me when I say this. You may hate yourself now, especially after what you've gone through. I too cannot look in the mirror without seeing a sick piece of shit staring back," he said monotonously.

He recollected himself momentarily before continuing to speak.

"But that doesn't mean you can't redeem yourself. Doesn't mean you still can't do the right thing. Neither of us will ever be unbroken again when the war is over. But this is our chance to still be worth anything at all. If it means stamping out that bastard and everything he loves, so be it. I'm not going home until he's dead."

Kamarov decided to add to the conversation too, having fought for decades and encountering countless young soldiers just like Natalia.

"You're not alone. I've looked into the eyes of my men, and they were just as broken as you are now. Some thought it best to allow themselves to die needlessly, the pain of their lives overpowering their ability to change the world. Others fought to the death and fell with eyes wide open, their faces still displaying their determination to win against their demons. And I think they did. When you die, which one do you want to be?"

Natalia averted her eyes, avoiding eye contact with the two as she tried to restrain herself. She truly hated what she'd become. The innocence she'd always been known for was long gone, replaced with the guilt of her sins. The same girl who refused to say she didn't want to carry the radio, now a remorseless killer who didn't flinch once when coldly executing one of Makarov's terrorists at the airport in Pakistan. Yet, the second she was away from the battlefield, far from the rattle of automatic fire and the screams of the dead, her demons overcame her.

Kamarov was indeed right. She had two choices. To be a coward, or…

"You're right," she declared.

She racked her AKS-74U's bolt before setting it aside. She loosely tied her hair back into a small ponytail, just like she'd done ever since the war started. Cracking her knuckles, she inserted a fresh mag into her PM-9, hearing the satisfying click of a round being chambered in the submachine gun. Securing it to the side of her rig with a weapon catch, she took up her carbine again and nodded.

"We going to ice this motherfucker or what?"

Peter slammed the feed tray cover of his PKP Pecheneg onto the newly loaded ammunition belt, giving the LMG a final shake as he brought it to a low-ready position. Adjusting his sling, he nodded back at Natalia with a sly smile and turned to Kamarov to confirm. Kamarov momentarily checked his rifle, then patted down his vest.

"Uh… could you help me make sure my radio is on? I forget sometimes," he asked sheepishly.

Natalia twisted a dial on the radio seated in a pouch on Kamarov's gear, giving it a tug. It was definitely on, so there was nothing to worry about at all.

"Good to go. Come on, Chernenko, we're in motion."

Peter set up his machine gun's bipod on a table a few meters from a window, aiming outside. Kamarov walked towards the door, Natalia following closely behind. She pulled out a red chemlight, broke it, and flicked her wrist a few times to shake it until it produced a sufficient glow. Earlier, Pavel ordered her not to use an IR glow stick, because nobody really thought about sending them on this mission without night vision.

Kamarov paused at the door while Natalia split and moved to the top floor. She apprehensively got out onto the roof access, peering out into the darkness. Holding out the light, she waved it back and forth in the air at a church a way off, near the hotel. The church Soap and Yuri were in was a different one, closer to their building and off to the left. Thus, while the 141 team had a clear line of sight to the hotel, Poacher Group could cover their blind spot and assist in an escape.

After waving the red light for half a minute or so, Natalia heard crackling on the net. She froze, keeping her chemlight held high in the air.

"Poacher 3-1, confirmed visual on your signal," came Sergei's voice before Pavel took over the radio.

"Uh, Bravo One, this is Poacher Actual. Permission for Kamarov to move in?"

"Permission granted," Soap replied shortly, presumably waiting for Yuri's translation. "Yuri, eyes on Kamarov."

"Can't see him," Yuri muttered in the background.

"Look for the red chemlight. See it yet?"

Moments later…

"Yes."

"Good, now if you look below where she's standing, door to the left. He should be coming out of there."

Natalia admittedly felt a bit nervous, knowing that Yuri's rifle was trained in her direction. He seemed a bit too distrustful of the whole team, especially her.

Below her, Kamarov opened the door and stepped outside. Natalia got back inside, quickly making her way to the other side of the building while Peter remained in position. They locked down their position, allowing the snipers to keep track of Kamarov from there on out. Natalia tuned her radio, entering the Russian frequency to listen in on their activity.

"All units assigned to this sector, this is Spiral 3-4. Visual on unknown activity from compound Olga, please confirm," a soldier reported.

"Roger that, this is Worthy 2-2. Permission to engage that building with RPG fire?" another replied.

"Worthy 2-2, this is Poacher 3-1, negative, negative! Do not engage!" Natalia quickly interjected. "Friendlies are at this position. We haven't seen anything out there."

"Roger that, 3-1. Worthy 2-2, you're cleared to move to compound Olga and link up with Poacher 3-1 to sweep that area. Spiral 3-4, out."

_Ah, shit!_ Natalia panicked, promptly switching her frequency to the one their team was using.

"Koslov! I've distracted them from Kamarov from the time being, but now they're about to investigate our building!"

"Roger that, Petrova. Suppressors on, you're cleared to engage if they enter your perimeter. Kuznetsov has verified that they're coming to you. You have about five mikes, ready up."

"Affirmative. Out."

Natalia quickly called for Peter to meet her.

"Five minutes, hostiles," she said, unslinging her AKS-74U and setting it down on the table.

"Fuck. What do you need me to do?" Peter asked.

"Uhh…" Natalia pondered, attaching a PBS-1 suppressor to her carbine. "Your gun's too loud. Take my PM-9, get upstairs. I think we have some Claymore mines to rig the entryways with."

"What about you?" Peter replied, accepting the oddly-shaped submachine gun.

"I'll meet them outside and buy you some time before drawing them upstairs. Once I run past you, blow them to hell. We'll need to clean up the mess before they can report it."

"Got it."

Peter promptly got to work strategically locating the mines for full effectiveness while Natalia got outside and waited for the Russians to show up. Donning mainly civilian clothing with a Western-made chest rig, she definitely would come across as suspicious. However, Russian forces in the area were advised that GRU Spetsnaz were operating somewhere. The part that they were working with the 141 was understandably withheld.

"Hey! Nova!" a soldier called, approaching her.

"Siberia!" the blonde immediately responded, recalling the correct countersign.

"Where's everybody else?" the sergeant inquired, trying to peek around her into the building and keep walking.

"Stay back for a moment," Natalia said, blocking him. "We're currently clearing it out."

"You seem like you're hiding something," the man growled. "We're moving in."

He pushed her aside, causing her to stumble backwards and nearly fall if it weren't for a Private who caught her.

"Sorry about that," he chuckled, helping Natalia regain her balance. "He's kind of pissed they called us out here."

"I'll be honest, they didn't have to send you guys over…"

"Agreed. Although, I'm kind of glad. They kept us cooped up in our building for hours. Um, anyway, you should go on ahead."

Natalia felt a slight tinge of regret that she'd have to kill them, especially the guy who was nice enough to help her up. After all, most of them were just draftees. She didn't see them executing civilians and the like.

"Follow me," she beckoned, opening the door.

She started up the stairs, waving them up. Once they were near the top, she quickly broke out into a run. However, her foot caught on the top of the stairs, and she scrambled to get away.

"Hey! Where are you going!?" the squad leader snapped, running after her along with the rest.

She staggered momentarily, breaking into a run. She passed the mines, heading down a hallway and skidding into the room Peter was in. Breaking her run by slamming into the wall, she ordered him to set them off.

"Now!"

Peter squeezed the clapper, setting off a small chain of Claymores that dispatched half of the squadron. He popped out of the doorway, firing the PM-9 into the hallway and dropping two more soldiers as he slipped into the room adjacent. Natalia rounded the corner and headed back out, throwing herself to the floor at the top of the stairs and engaging the final two men, who were coming up. One of them slumped against the wall, drawing his sidearm and aiming it upwards.

Natalia got up, and he stared back. It was the guy who helped her up moments earlier. His expression was one of disbelief, and he felt hesitant to pull the trigger, slightly lowering his gun. But before he could raise it, Natalia coldly leveled her AK and executed him, planting a final round into his skull and painting the wall with gray matter. As soon as the man's hand dropped, she immediately realized what she just did.

"Fuck! FUCK!" she cried, throwing her gun aside, feeling the pain of the strap keeping it against her body.

Sitting down at the top of the stairs, she quickly got out her radio and changed to the Russian military frequency once again.

"Worthy 2-2, what was that? Do you read? Please respond!"

"Spiral 3-4, this is Poacher 3-1!" Natalia said, sounding convincingly panicked. "Th-they tripped a chain of IEDs! We swept the rest of this building and found nothing else, I think they booby-trapped it! Do not, repeat, _do not _approach this building! We're going to search it for traps."

"Roger that, 3-1…" came the solemn reply. "All units in this sector, avoid the building south of the church. Friendlies are already on site."

"Damn this," Natalia sighed, burying her face in her hands. "I can't do this. Terrorists is one thing, Americans another, but our own goddamn guys. It's treason at this point."

"We have orders to stop Makarov at all costs," Peter muttered.

"You know what? Never mind. Let's just put the man in hell even though we're already here."

"Calm down. Just wait. We have a couple of hours until the meeting at six-hundred. You look tired. Let's get rid of these bodies and I'll hold down the fort while you take a nap or something."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I found a coffee maker downstairs. Just keep your gun by your side and we'll both be fine."

* * *

_You've been alone your whole life. You still are. You always will be. Even in death._

Natalia was strapped to her chair yet again. Inside that same dim room she'd grown too accustomed to seeing. Again and again, these dreams would come to her. She'd always be reliving another one of her worst moments. And just like in those moments, she wouldn't have any ability to change things at all.

This time, it was different.

She suddenly found herself in a classroom, specifically her high school. Looking down at her desk, she saw a doodle of an SU-50 fighter jet. Nothing special, just pen scratch on lined paper. The drawing was immediately snatched from beneath her hand. Laughing came from off to her side.

It was that same group of upperclassmen that always tormented her. She always isolated herself from the other students, being perfectly content with a friend or two she'd talk to occasionally.

She felt upset, but didn't want to voice it. Better just to let them get bored of her already, right? That's what her parents always told her. Don't give them what they want. They'll stop.

"Um," Natalia quietly stammered, "e-excuse me, I, uhh, well, that's…"

She sighed, unable to form a coherent sentence.

"Holy shit, why the hell do you stutter so much, bitch!?" one of her bullies scoffed.

"You sound like a retard, you know that?"

"See, I, k-k-kinda…" Natalia continued.

"It's so annoying, that 'uh, um, well' shit."

"Stupid-ass. Spends so much time speaking English she can't talk normally."

"Sorry, you- never mind. I know h-how, um, to…"

"HOLY SHIT, SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

"Y-Yes. Right. Okay."

"The fuck did I JUST SAY!?"

She found herself being dragged out into the hallway by at least ten people. They threw her against the wall forcefully. Quietly whimpering from the pain, she backed up apprehensively as they closed in.

"Since you won't shut up, we can definitely make you."

And out of nowhere, someone stuck a piece of duct tape over her mouth. Without missing a beat, it was ripped off immediately, and she this time let out a yell as the sting overcame her. Her thin lips began to bleed. When she tried to wipe them off, they seized her hand so another person could slap her.

She recoiled from the shock, staggering slightly as she rubbed her cheek. She didn't see the perfect imprint of a hand forming on her face.

"That should teach you a lesson," one spat, kicking Natalia in the leg, causing her to drop.

"Th-Thank you…" Natalia softly whispered.

Tears formed in her eyes as it took everything she had not to cry. She tried to get up, but when a sharp pain recoiled through her leg, she knew it was injured and couldn't move it. She sniffled and choked back a sob as the group departed.

She noticed her crumpled drawing off to her side. She reached for it, pulling it over and opening it so she could see it again. A single tear dropped onto the paper. When she wiped it off, the water spread as if she cried all over it. She continued to wipe, until it was a blurry mess. When she finally stopped, her eyes widened as a new image appeared before herself.

The plane was exploding.

And she found herself in a new place, seeing the exact image displayed on a television. The headline read, "The Ultranationalist Threat." Listening to the TV, she could hear the anchor discussing how the most recent incident involved a fighter being shot down by another Russian pilot aligned to the Ultranationalist cause. The shot cut to another shot of a reporter waiting for the government's press release.

_Right. Mom's not around anymore. And Dad won't be back from the oil rig for about a week. Should probably check the mail._

Her parents had recently divorced, only about a week back. She always wondered why her mother, someone who craved constant attention, would marry someone who would spend lots of time away from home. Apparently, she was married to a sailor before, so there must have been some other reason.

Natalia put on a jacket and threw on the hood, stepping outside. Hands in her pockets, she tiredly shuffled down the hallway. The heating never really worked well, the building having probably been built by some disgruntled Soviet workers.

Natalia didn't understand the Ultranationalists. Sure, nobody was patriotic anymore, but she didn't see any issue with getting closer with the West. They wanted the days of the Soviet Union back, but with that would probably come with all the bullshit that came with communism. Including badly-constructed and maintenance-neglected apartments.

"Whoa, she's come out for once! How come you still sit in there all day doing nothing? Shouldn't you get a job or something?"

Natalia quickly turned her head away, walking faster so she could escape.

A lot of the people in the building were old people who lived there when the hammer and sickle was still the flag, and TVs had antennas. And some of them were judgmental of Natalia, having that old mentality of working all one's life or whatever. They didn't know why she barricaded herself inside all day. Why she found it better just to isolate herself from other people.

On the way back, the same lady bothered her again.

"Useless kids like you… you're why our country's falling apart now."

Natalia stopped and twitched momentarily. Yeah, like she was supposed to solve the civil war herself. As of late, she was becoming increasingly upset, especially due to her parents' recent divorce. She didn't have the money to go to flight school like she wanted to, and her father's company recently announced a pay cut for its workers.

"W-Well…" Natalia weakly mumbled, gritting her teeth and looking up at the woman. "You know what!? It's because of people like you! I don't want to be judged by assholes who don't understand my situation!"

Natalia took a breath and continued.

"And maybe back in your day, people my age were busy doing stupid jobs they didn't want! I don't give a FUCK! Welcome to the modern day, you old bitch!"

She couldn't believe herself. This was unthinkable for her.

"Y-You know what? I'd tell you to act your age. But if you did, you'd DIE."

That was pretty uncool. The woman couldn't have been _that _old – she was middle-aged, if anything.

Natalia ran for her apartment, slamming the door shut after heading inside.

Rubbing her face, she took a moment to calm down. She was always quiet, and always took insults without protest. It was better not to react visibly. But what did she _just_ do?

She glanced at the pile of envelopes she threw on the table. One immediately caught her eye, being from the government.

Addressed to her.

Quickly ripping it open, she scanned the contents of the document. The first thing she saw was the Russian Armed Forces emblem at the top.

"Natalia Dimitrinichna Petrova… selected for service… report by December Fifth… what?"

At that moment, she realized something.

Today was the 4th.

She wouldn't have any time to even call her father to tell him. And she had to get everything on the packing list ready immediately. On top of that, she had no form of transportation, and she couldn't walk there herself. So she'd have to buy a train ticket or something.

But she didn't have the money for it.

For about an hour, she turned the apartment over for loose change and money left lying around, but only scraped together enough to maybe buy the essentials on the list, but no ticket.

She glanced at the old cigar box inconspicuously on a shelf. Inside were her savings, the money she was trying to gather to go to flight school.

Biting her lip, she decided that she'd have to. Her father was hard on money lately, and she didn't want to take any of his. And if she was being drafted, then there was no point in saving up for school anyway.

Plus, maybe she could save her military pay or something like that.

Opening the box, she sat down and took out the small wad inside. Counting it, she found that it would be enough for everything, plus some extra just in case. At the bottom was a folded piece of ripped notebook paper with something scribbled onto it.

_For me,_

_ Remember writing this? I do, but that is because I just finished. Anyway, if you don't remember, this money is for one thing and one thing only. This is to go to a flight school so you can be a pilot like you always wanted. Dad said it would be a good idea to save up early. And now you can go, because you probably have enough at this point. Anyway, good luck._

_ From, Natalia_

_P.S. Oh, and if you don't have enough money: close the box right now! What are you doing?_

Natalia sighed, flipping the paper over and setting it down on the table. She found a mechanical pencil and clicked it repeatedly until the lead finally came out.

_Dad,_

_ I'm sorry if I didn't tell you sooner, or call you or anything like that. This is extremely urgent, and I have to go. I've been drafted into the military, and I have to report to them tomorrow. I know you need the money, so I didn't take any of yours. I'm using my flight school savings instead – I can always save more, right? So no need to set aside anything. I promise, I'll contact you as soon as I can. Don't worry about me. I know we're at war, but the news is saying that it'll be over really soon, so by the time I'm done with training they won't send me out anywhere. See you soon._

_ -Natalia_

Heading to her room to collect some of her personal belongings, she opened the door and stepped through. But randomly, she ended up in formation with a bunch of other people, unsure how she got there. She turned around to check if the door was behind herself, being cut short by someone yelling.

"PETROVA! EYES FRONT!"

She was jogging with other recruits in basic training. She felt the rifle in her hands, an old AK-74 set aside for training use. She held the weapon at high port, striding in sync with the people around her.

"ARMS UP! PETROV, YOU'RE JUST AS STUPID AS YOUR COUSIN!"

The drill sergeant shifted his attention, barking at another soldier. The target was Viktor, although it was hard to imagine him by any other name other than his nickname, "Vik."

"All right, you little shits. We're almost there. I don't want to see any of you stopping, that understood?"

A chorus of _YES DRILL SERGEANTs._

The task before the recruits was to run an obstacle course. Nothing particularly difficult, except for the fact that they had to retain their rifles. The problem was, only half were issued slings. A problematic situation.

"Natalie. Wanna buddy up for this one?" Vik suggested, coming up beside Natalia and elbowing her. "I got a sling, so I can help you with your own rifle."

"Sounds good."

Before anything else, however, another soldier stumbled into Natalia, the two falling into the mud beneath themselves. The barrel of the other soldier's AK74 plunged into the ground, the slop forcing itself all the way into the chamber.

"Aw, come on…" he mumbled, before spotting Natalia's pristine weapon.

Without missing a beat, he wrestled the gun from her hands and continued on, meeting up with another trainee to perform the course.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?" the drill sergeant roared, coming up behind Natalia. "GET MOV-… why is your rifle in the mud?"

Natalia replied immediately, raising her voice. A rare occurrence, made routine by her training.

"DRILL SERGEANT, THAT IS NOT MY WEAPON!"

"Oh, really? I see one weapon. I also see one dumbass. I don't care at all. As far as I'm concerned, that's yours… SO GET IT OUT OF THE MUD, WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING!? I HOPE YOU ENJOY CLEANING THAT WHILE YOUR BUDDIES ENJOY THEIR CHOW!"

As Natalia picked the gun off the ground, the soldier who stole her own rifle passed, laughing uncontrollably before smacking it back into the mud.

"Fucking hell," Vik sighed, unslinging his rifle and taking Natalia's.

"What are you doing, Vik? This is yours."

"It's fine. I don't want to see you having to put up with their shit. It's not fair. Besides, I'm quite possibly the fastest at cleaning these suckers. Now c'mon, let's go," Vik assured with a smile, tapping Natalia on the back and starting to run.

Natalia followed, and next thing she was stumbling into the mess hall, a tray of the usual bland food given in basic. She searched for a suitable seat, but it seemed that nobody really wanted her nearby. She received glares, a scowl or two, and one person just plain said "no."

This kind of thing was common in the Russian military. Always a hierarchy. Natalia was lucky she wasn't as much of a victim of hazing as her male counterparts. Being the shy, quiet guy was an invitation to be pushed around.

The door suddenly flew open, and a visibly angry Vik stormed in. His hands were noticeably brown, there was dirt under his fingernails.

He approached the guy who took Natalia's weapon and placed a hand on his shoulder, growling into his ear.

"We're going to have to talk."

"Don't bother me."

Vik's eye twitched. He put his hand on the back of the recruit's head, and in one swift motion slammed it into the table, splattering food all over the place. Then, yanking his head back up, Vik turned the man towards Natalia, who was standing with her mouth open in awe.

"This applies to all of you," Vik boomed, making sure everyone could hear him. "I don't want to see any of you fucking with my little cousin!"

A sergeant approached, prepared to reprimand Vik for what he had just done. This kind of behavior, if caught, was punishable by recycling recruits. As he approached, Vik quickly slipped his fingers into his pocket and produced four notes worth 400 rubles.

The sergeant accepted it, telling Vik not to let it happen again and walking away.

The whole time, Natalia just watched and totally forgot that she still needed a place to sit. Turning away, she noticed the recruits all gaping at her. One swallowed nervously. After about a second, they all slid away to give her a seat.

A soldier sitting across Natalia sat there, staring at her, not taking a single bite. Just staring.

"Natalie!" he suddenly yelled.

"H-Hey, only one person can call me that!" Natalia said.

"Natalie! NATALIE!"

"What!?"

"WAKE UP!"

"Huh?"

* * *

Natalia awoke, her drowsy eyes fluttering open as the fog in her vision slowly cleared. Peter was standing at the other edge of the table she fell asleep on. She slowly came to focus on the mug in his hand, the steam slowly wafting out of its mouth.

She blinked momentarily, trying to figure out what was going on. Her dreams were not only oddly vivid, but she recalled moments outside of that same nightmare she'd always have.

Another voice began to speak, except that Peter's lips definitely weren't moving. A disembodied voice? And why did it sound so familiar? And… full of static?

"…I repeat, Kingfish's convoy just passed our position. Archangel 1-2, sitrep, over."

"This is Archangel 1-2, bearing two klicks north of your position, approaching you cherubs eight at roughly one-hundred knots. Be advised, we've just refueled, but we are Winchester on our 12.5mm."

"Roger that."

He sounded kind of hot. Who was that guy again? Wasn't it…

"This is Koslov to Petrova, radio check, please acknowledge, over."

_OH SHIT!_

Natalia immediately rushed over to her radio and threw on her headset.

"Roger that, I read. Send traffic, over."

"They're about to kick it off! Kingfish has arrived. We've confirmed visual on pax closing in from the west on the church, you have orders to intercept!" Koslov ordered.

"IN BROAD DAYLIGHT!?" Natalia panicked, Peter also jumping and shooting a nervous glare at her.

He shook his head, coming over and taking the microphone.

"Affirmative, we'll get it done. Petrova, let's go!"

He went back and picked up his LMG, throwing the sling on. Natalia sighed, going for her AK and checking the mag.

The two left out the door and into the streets, the daylight instantly illuminating them. Peter took a second to adjust his watch cap while Natalia furiously scanned the buildings around for personnel. Even with everyone concentrated on the square, there would be patrols to worry about on the way. Nevertheless, the church was only a short way north and if they made it in time they could intercept the soldiers.

Peter was already running, and Natalia followed suit. She flicked the safety off on her carbine, all the way to full-auto. Her sneakers squeaked against the damp pavement as she caught up with her partner. The bunch of chemlights hanging from a carabiner on Peter's belt bounced up and down as he ran. Natalia quickly took her attention away from that and looked forward.

The intersection was about fifteen meters away. She tapped Peter's shoulder and broke left, crossing the street, her weapon trained in the direction she anticipated the soldiers to come from. Peter then crossed, coming up behind Natalia and nodding. They both slowly approached, preparing for the soldiers to arrive.

A team of about five jogged by, their heavy equipment rustling and making plenty of noise. Right before one of them turned to cover the street Natalia and Peter were on, Natalia had already pulled Peter into the closest alleyway.

The two waited for the sound to fade. Natalia quickly noticed that she was up against the wall with Peter resting his arm on it uncomfortably close. He peeked around the corner, observing the men passing by.

"They've got an engineer," he whispered, turning towards Natalia with a momentary expression indicating that he too realized the position they were in.

Nevertheless, he continued to talk.

"Actually, they all had explosives. Come on, let's go."

Natalia stepped into the way, blocking him.

"No, don't. We'll compromise everything! I have a better idea, I'll report it to them."

"You sure?"

"Gimme a second to patch myself through."

She slipped the radio out, adjusting its dials and punching in a code on the keypad. Ensuring the frequency was correct, she fumbled for the push-to-talk button clipped to her vest.

"Kamarov, do you read me?" Price said.

"Probably forgot to switch it on," Soap sighed.

_What? No, I checked. Everything was fine._

Before she could key her radio, Natalia heard footsteps rapidly approaching. She raised her AKS-74U and pointed it in that direction, but was too late. They were compromised.

"Hands!" the leader immediately ordered. "Disarm them."

Two soldiers restrained Peter, and another one secured Natalia, pressing her against the wall. He yanked away her gun and threw it down before patting down her body. His hands slowed, running down the side of her waist as he let out a heavy sigh. He kept them there for a second, his eyes noticing Natalia's shock, before letting go.

"It's done, sir."

The officer came over to Natalia, scowling before punching her right in the gut. She doubled over before sliding down the wall, curling on the ground while whimpering in pain. He rolled her over with his boot, kicking her.

"You deceived us," he growled. "We're not stupid. We know you killed all of our guys, you piece of shit bitch."

Bending down, he pulled her up and shoved her into Peter. The two backed up against the wall, exchanging uncertain glances.

"Shame, too. I'm sure both of you have done plenty for Price."

_What the-?_

The soldiers took aim, pointing their rifles directly at the two. Their fingers moved to the triggers.

Natalia gulped, feeling something within herself building up. She kept a cold, steely gaze, but a sensation was beginning to overtake her. It wasn't that same bloodthirstiness she'd been having. This was different. She was about to die for real this time, right when she thought she could finally make a difference.

She shed a single tear as her lips slightly parted, attempting to form words.

But she couldn't.

There she stood, staring down the men about to execute the both of them. Trembling, she prepared herself for this moment.

Death finally caught up with her. This was what she had been awaiting for a long time.

* * *

"Bandit One, this is Overlord Actual. Sitrep."

The single message broke the silence between the operators sitting around in an abandoned building. Everybody remained frozen in position, eyes unmoving, not a single person breaking focus.

A soldier rolled his head, glancing out the window and squinting out into the distance, locating a church tower sticking out from the skyline. His hand slowly came up to his push-to-talk, the _click_ echoing through the room.

"We're about a klick out from the objective," he murmured into his microphone. "We've established a safehouse past checkpoint Bravo. We can't go out into the streets, increased enemy activity out there. What's the status on our QRF?"

"Roger that. QRF is on standby, two hours out. You need to execute, now. We can't miss our window to get this guy."

"Overlord, the patrols in the streets…" the operator began, right before being cut off by the thud of an explosion in the distance. "…what the fuck? You guys heard that, right? Yo, McCoy, what do you see out there?"

"Bandit One, repeat your last, over."

A cloud of smoke billowed from the church tower, proceeded by the distant rattling and clicking of small-arms fire. The building began to shake violently. The vibrations ceased quickly, and the fading buzz of a helicopter's rotor blades joined the chaos going off outside.

"Seems like some shit went down at the X, we see smoke and hear small-arms fire out there, visual on a hostile bird in the airspace."

"Understood. Maneuver north of the compound and establish an ambush point before Kingfish escapes. QRF is departing, secure your perimeter and rendezvous with them there. Good luck, Out."

"Shit!" the soldier snapped, standing up and waving his hand in the air. "Come on guys, we're oscar mike!"

"Heidegger… Boss, you think we can catch him?" McCoy piped up, charging his HK416 and kicking the door open.

"No way in hell. But we'll get it done anyway."

* * *

James climbed up into the stealth-converted Blackhawk, cramming himself in with the other Rangers packed into the helicopter. He hung his legs out, letting his carbine rest on his lap while he clipped his carabiner to a hook on the floor. He flipped his helmet over and unbuckled its chinstrap, getting a quick glance inside of the helmet.

Lodged between the padding was a photograph of a girl once close to him. He felt a momentary pain in his chest as he recognized her face, recalling his last memory of her. He sighed and squeezed his eyes shut, the image of her smile burned into his mind. Over the helicopter blades, he could just barely hear her voice haunting him.

But he just didn't have the heart to get rid of that photo.

James blessed himself and quickly buckled the helmet on, shifting it to ensure its fit. He took his weapon back into his hands, taking a moment to relax and take a deep breath. His focus soon came to rest on the faded scars across his palms, a memento of his first vacation to Washington DC.

A hand came from behind and tightened around his shoulder.

"Good to have you back, Ramirez!" yelled the soldier behind him.

Admittedly, it was good to hear that familiar Southern accent. It was by no means comforting (usually the opposite actually) but James felt confident knowing that Dunn had his back.

"Yo, Sarge… you think they're gonna give my stripe back?" Dunn continued.

"Somebody needs to take my old place," Foley replied. "Although, Clarke seems like a better candidate."

"Can't fight for shit without my two-forty-bravo, man. Stupid dinky two-forty-nine."

"Man, you're salty, Clarke. That's pussy shit to Ramirez. Motherfucker can take out an AC-130 with a paperclip if he wants to."

Ramirez winced, turning around and glaring straight at Dunn. Nobody was supposed to talk about that ever again. His reputation was never going to go away, was it?

"They need to hurry up and let me retire already," Foley muttered.

* * *

**Aww dayum, I'm gonna leave you guys on a cliffhanger like the sick person I am. Why? Because I had another 2-month hiatus and need to put this out. Admittedly, I intended to make it longer… but hey, life. I've been doing lots of rewriting behind the scenes, and revamped the first chapter especially. **

**It's funny how it's 2016. Because, you know. This fic takes place this year. Hurr.**

**I've been way into GATE: Thus the JSDF Fought There! as of late, and you can probably see it reflecting in my writing. The DEVGRU leader being named Heidegger is a direct nod to GATE, although there Heidegger is actually former USMC Force Recon. Whatever.**

**Also, Rainbow Six: Siege is taking over my life. It's honestly a really fresh FPS. Includes operator waifus. If you want an idea of what Natalia's been wearing during this mission, imagine an IQ-esque kinda outfit with the whole jeans-jacket-gear thing. (Ash is trash, Twitch is a bitch, IQ is waifu. Deal with it.)**

**Anyway, it seems like you people love the fuck out of Ramirez as usual, so he's with the Rangers, being the QRF for the Tier One guys like always! Poor things. **

**I'm actually going to show you guys a bit more of McCoy. All you guys have seen is some loser who is a medic and has a thing for Jenna, not much else. But because of Bradford's behind-the-scenes fuckery, he's now attached to DEVGRU on a mission to take out Makarov. Yeah, I'm gonna say that the "Tier One teams" Sandman referred to in the mission briefing to "Eye of the Storm" is DEVGRU. Gotta have 'em SEALs, y'know?**

**Natalia is getting some backstory, too. She didn't quite have it that nice either. You can also see that she was much different in her younger days, a shy, innocent type who never got a break. Contrast with her now. But deep down inside, that pure cinnamon roll side is still there. And there just might be someone able to urge that out of her.**

**Poor thing, I feel bad for torturing a character so badly. Having to kill Russians won't help her mental state. Then again, it should be over soon for her. If anything, she'll have a release from all of that suffering.**

**A big thanks to those still sticking around and checking this out, you guys keep me going with this. And fans who dropped off… well, I'm still alive. **

**Well, don't do veggies, stay in drugs, and eat your school. Get ready for some serious stuff to go down next chapter, because we all know what's coming for the 141. And Poacher Group won't get it easy either. After all, now they've officially committed treason.**

**Anyway, feel free to leave a review if you're actually going to say something about the story. _Please do not ask me to update_, I work on my own schedule. And if you want to ask me about anything regarding the story, or have non-shipping suggestions, shoot me a PM and I'll be glad to talk. And no, I will not discuss random stuff about CoD but irrelevant to the fic. I don't really want to have a conversation about stuff that has no impact on the story whatsoever.**

**P.S. WHOEVER CALLS NATALIA "NATASHA" NEXT IS GOING TO BE THE NAMESAKE OF SOME POOR BASTARD SHE KILLS IN GRAPHIC DETAIL. SERIOUSLY, THIS IS WHY I'M IGNORING JENNA FOR A BIT.**


	31. Lit From the West

**Well, shoot. Compared to my past update pace, this is kind of early. Technically. Haha.**

**Things are really getting real with Natalia, Pavel, and Poacher Group. And we all know how the 141 is doing.**

**Yeah, guys. It's **_**that**_** mission. **

**Anyway, this is just a heads-up for you guys reading the fic. I think it's safe to assume that if you read this story, you'll be fine. But I'll warn you just in case. **

**There's some pretty heavy gore inbound. Not pretty at all. **

**With that out of the way, here's your regularly scheduled programming.**

* * *

As soon as the huge explosion rang out, a whole flock of pigeons fluttered into the sky like a cloud. The source of the blast was the nearby hotel. A second explosion went off. The Ultranationalists turned to witness the smoke billowing out of what used to be the tower of the cathedral across from the hotel. For a short moment they forgot that they had prisoners nearby – and that would be their undoing.

For Natalia, everything felt like slow motion. That was always how she felt during these moments. Her limbs almost felt nonexistent, the only feeling was the tsunami of adrenaline coursing through her. She scanned around, her eyes darting while she tried to seek the weapons.

Both her guns and knife remained in a pile close to one of the guards, kept out of reach. She wouldn't have any time to go for those, not during the brief window of distraction the explosion caused. In desperation, her eyes came to rest on a nearby glass bottle on the ground near her foot.

At that moment, she realized what to do. She noticed that Peter had his eyes on the same bottle, and the second she realized that, the two made eye contact. There was no doubt about their synergy in situations of this type. Natalia hooked the neck of the bottle with her foot, and with one swift motion slipped her foot beneath it. Kicking upwards, she launched it into the air.

Peter broke into a swift dash towards the bottle, catching it in midair as he charged one of the guards. Leaping into the air, he brought it down with as much force he could to smash it over the man's head. Peter decided on an extremely haphazard decision that he determined would give Natalia the split second she needed to make the next move and stay alive. He threw the broken bottle at her. It twirled through the air, the jagged, sharp side and the neck alternating positions towards Natalia.

She reached out to grab it, the glass cutting her arm before tumbling and smashing into the wall.

Peter realized his mistake, but fortunately noticed his sidearm on the ground near his foot. He tackled the soldier he broke the bottle on, and on the way down swiped the gun with his toes. It slid towards Natalia, who was trying to salvage a large enough piece of glass to try and use. The weapon came to rest in the pile of shards. She promptly grabbed it, immediately grateful of her decision to bring her Mechanix M-Pact gloves to the fight. Brandishing the handgun in one hand and the neck of the bottle in the other, she immediately turned towards the nearest soldier.

She shot towards him with her makeshift knife, eyes filled with determination. Right before the edge of the bottle plunged into his side, he looked into her emerald eyes and saw venom in her stare. Now that it was lodged in the man's body, Natalia kicked the piece of glass in deeper while snapping off rounds at the soldiers behind him.

Peter liberated his victim's shotgun and rolled over, still lying on the ground. He immediately realized that the weapon in his hands was a Saiga 12 – a semiautomatic shotgun. Grinning, he dumped the entire mag into two soldiers off to the side, completely obliterating their legs into mangled messes of muscle and bone. The green shells knocked against the ground in rhythm with the blasts of the gun.

Natalia took hold of the downed guard's PP90M1 submachine gun, unclipping it from the quick-detach buckle on its one-point sling. Tucking the folding stock beneath her arm, she sprayed it at the cluster of enemy soldiers beginning to bring their attention back to their neglected prisoners. She peppered their bodies with bullets. She watched as a round tore right through a man's eye before he screamed out and brought his hand over the socket, blood pouring down his face as he crumpled to the ground.

Peter fumbled for another mag on the corpse's vest, knocking out his empty mag with a fresh one and rocking it into place. While he reloaded, Natalia turned and squeezed the trigger at a soldier aiming at him. The submachine gun rapidly recoiled upwards as she dumped the whole magazine, neglecting to fire in bursts. Peter ducked beneath her muzzle once the fire ceased, popped up, and finished him off. Another came around the corner straight into the muzzle of his shotgun. With a single shot, he blew half of the man's face off, chunks of it flying out and hitting Peter.

Natalia trembled violently, her finger repeatedly pulling the trigger despite having run dry. Realizing this, she fell to her knees, taking a new helical magazine and trying to lock it into the weapon. She kept missing, failing to connect it with the gun as her eyes began to water more and more. Knocking it against the gun, she kept continuing to reload, growing more and more upset with every second.

Her vision went blurry as she looked down at it, her tears dropping onto the metal. Someone suddenly appeared in front of her, crouching down and grabbing ahold of her shoulders firmly, yet reassuringly. She looked up at him, still being able to identify him even through the water in her eyes.

"Petro- Natalia! Listen. It'll be all right. Do you understand me, Natalia? Stay with me. Stop, stop, listen to me," he said, gently taking her hand.

"K-Koslov?" Natalia choked, her hand tightening around his as she stared back. "I-I-I… I can't do this anymore!"

She allowed herself to collapse into him, burying her head into his chest and catching him off guard. He unconsciously squeezed her hand as he looked at both Alex and Sergei, who were both flanking him.

"We need to get out of here, Sergeant!" Alex warned, hearing the exchange of fire dangerously nearby.

"No shit, Kaminski. But he's right, it's time to go. No time to tag Kingfish's vehicle," Sergei added.

Pavel nodded.

"Natalia. Please. Get back in the fight. Can you do that for me?"

"Understood, Sergeant Koslov."

"I promise, we'll pull it together and all make it out of this – ALIVE. Kuznetsov, Kaminski, pull security while Petrova and Chernenko get weapons back. Petrova, get a hold of Archangel and establish the LZ for our extraction."

* * *

"Boss, what exactly are we gonna do? None of this was part of the plan," McCoy asked as the SEALs prepared to move out.

"We're going to push up to the square and hope there's something left for us to salvage and bring home. About half a klick out, just outside of RPG range, we dig in and wait for QRF before heading in, looking for our guy, and getting the hell out."

"Won't Kingfish be gone by then? He'll probably dip well before we arrive."

Heidegger sighed and flashed a defeated glare at McCoy.

"You got a better idea? Or do you want to come back empty-handed?"

Heidegger nodded before activating his radio.

"Overlord Actual, this is Bandit One. Patch me through to Hunter 2-1 so I can relay our new intel."

"Roger that."

A few moments later, a new voice joined the net. In contrast to the deadpan of the previous two people communicating, the man was raising his voice, nearly yelling. In the background was a noise that was likely to be the bird he was riding in.

"Bandit One, this is Hunter 2-1. Foley speaking. Send transmission, over."

"Be advised, we've received intel regarding a Russian spec-ops team working in your area. They're friendly, and it seems like they've gone rogue against the Ultranationalists. If you encounter them, proper call-and-response is 'Aurora' and 'Tokyo.' How copy?"

"Solid copy. Interrogative… where did you get this intel? Is it reliable?"

"Affirmative. We've received it from a source we're not cleared to identify, but we know it's reliable. Just keep eyes open for guys who look like local resistance but speak Russian, and use that call-and-response. Bandit One, out."

* * *

"Uh, if I could request permission to speak?" Peter requested, turning to Pavel nervously.

"Sure thing, just don't take your eyes off the door at the top of the stairs. We need to hold out at this safehouse until 141 shows up and I'd rather not get caught pants down."

"Sorry. Anyway, the leader of those guys knew we were working with Price. Said something about knowing we did a lot for him."

Pavel finished lighting a cigarette for Natalia, who was still visibly shocked and shaking in her chair.

"Yeah. Makarov found out. He knew everything. He fucking knew everything, and none of us have any idea how."

Multiple footsteps suddenly sounded upstairs, followed by voices. Everyone's attention turned to the door, weapons all pointed in its direction. Faintly, they could barely hear the conversation, unable to make out the words.

"They're speaking English," Natalia whispered.

"_Soap! Medic! Put pressure on the wound! Yuri! Over here!"_

Natalia listened intently, eyes widening as she realized what was happening.

"_GET A MEDIC!"_

The sound of violence in the background gradually grew louder, the explosions being felt all the way down in the basement. Suddenly, a single voice cried out, and every soldier knew exactly who it was and what he was saying.

"_Oh, no, no, no no no! SOAP! NO, NO! NO! SOAP!"_

If there was one thing every person in the basement understood, it was that feeling of loss, of grief.

"_Price! You have to go! NOW!"_

They forgot to realize that even Price was capable of feeling it.

"_Get off me!"_

And despite the difference in experience and age, Price was just like them. After all those years, he'd just learned to not become attached to anyone. Pavel told of the many good men he'd lost in the Second Civil War and how it changed him. Soap was the only other survivor of the team.

Heavy gunfire erupted upstairs, tearing the building and its occupants apart. Bodies dropped to the floor. The Russians quietly stepped back from the door, eyes on and ready to engage any enemies who entered.

Yuri appeared at the top, turning back towards Price. He was seemingly unaware of the fist headed towards his face, knocking him backwards. Yuri tumbled down the stairs violently, coming to rest at Natalia's feet. She stepped back and watched as Price aimed a Desert Eagle straight at Yuri's head.

"Soap trusted you. I thought I could, too," Price growled, racking the slide and keeping the barrel firmly between the Russian's eyes. "So why, in bloody hell, does Makarov know you?"

Yuri sighed, slowly getting up and rubbing his head. Natalia tried to help him up, only to be pushed off.

"_I was young and patriotic when I first met Makarov_," he explained. "_I recall an arms deal out in Pripyat… all the way near Chernobyl. I still remember Makarov's words. 'The road to our future begins here, my friend.' While Zakhaev argued with the arms dealer, a sudden shot rang out before slamming straight into his arm and ripping it clean off._"

Pavel stepped back apprehensively at the name of Zakhaev. Natalia remembered that he had fought against Zakhaev during the war.

"_But we took him into our jeep and managed to escape, and that's how he lived. Zakhaev never forgot what we did for him that day… Our reward was power. But power corrupts._"

Yuri took a moment to recall the details before continuing.

"_We found ourselves in the Middle East, on the outskirts of a city the Americans were invading. Little did they know, that was their doom. Makarov cleared the detonation of the nuclear device. Thousands of souls, extinguished… by the push of a button._"

Natalia couldn't help but real the American medic that helped her back in DC. She couldn't tell why she remembered that face at that particular moment. But something about that person, something about her felt almost tied to that event. Like it was some part of her.

"_This wasn't war. It was madness. Makarov was planning an attack, this time against an airport full of innocents. There was no value for the attack either, other than senseless bloodshed. I tried to warn the authorities, and the moment they brought in a replacement for me on the team, I knew they found out._"

The Zakhaev attack was precisely the reason Natalia ever went to war in the first place. She'd never heard much about it, save the propaganda fed to her by the military and state-run television.

"'_My friend, my ally, my betrayer...' the words of Makarov himself. He was right, I couldn't have stopped it. I was a soldier of Russia, not a taker of innocent lives. But in his eyes, this marked me as the enemy,_" Yuri concluded, running his hand over a spot in his abdomen.

"Okay, Yuri, you've bought yourself some time," Price said, helping up Yuri. "For now."

He suddenly turned towards Pavel, eyes filling with rage.

"It was YOU, wasn't it! WASN'T IT!?"

"Wha-What? No! We're on your side!"

He headed straight for Pavel, pointing the gun at him.

"NO!"

Natalia quickly got in the way, thrusting her arms out and standing right in front of Price, completely disregarding the gun in her face.

"Y-You can't! And if you do… you'll have to k-kill me first! Because I… I won't let you hurt him!"

Koslov stepped back in awe at Natalia's actions. This was unlike her. Never would she willingly step in front of a gun, much less to protect him. He knew she was fragile. He knew she would otherwise avoid this. Why was she doing this for him?

"Out of my way," Price growled, shoving Natalia aside forcefully enough to throw her into the wall.

"DON'T PUT A FUCKING FINGER ON HER!" Pavel roared, drawing his sidearm, shooting forward, and pressing the barrel straight under Price's chin while Alex and Sergei raised their weapons.

Price froze, eyes darting around as he realized he wouldn't be able to take on three armed, angry Russians in close quarters.

"Price – they're right," Yuri chimed in, suddenly helping Natalia up. "Just look at them. They're all so young. They're still idealistic, they're still soldiers, all they do is follow orders. All they want is to help stop Makarov. I mean… can't you see Petrova? You can tell that's her one sole purpose in life anymore."

Natalia stared at Yuri. Since when did he understand her at all? She was convinced he hated her.

"She reminds me of myself. Nowhere to go, but doing it only because it's what her life has become. I didn't want any of these guys here, because I knew they'd have to suffer right alongside us. They're all fugitives now. All traitors. Just like you and I, Price."

The Brit looked around, dropped his gun, and nodded.

"I'm sorry," he sighed. "It's just that… it's just that I lost Soap. He was the best soldier I'd ever had. He and I… we could take on the world together if we wanted. He was unstoppable. I shouldn't have acted out like that. I apologize. Koslov."

Pavel slowly lowered his weapon, the other two Russians following suit.

"Your apology is accepted," he said in a heavy accent, holstering the pistol before leaning closer to Price. "But do not lay finger on Natalia. Ever. Again."

He looked towards the blonde sitting in the corner, suddenly making contact with her green eyes. The two stared at one another. Natalia saw the way Pavel defended her, the way he stood up for her like nobody ever had in her life. And Pavel saw the way she overcame her fear and gladly stepped in the way to willingly take a bullet if it meant saving him. And in that moment, the two had a mutual feeling. Neither could figure out exactly what it was.

But suddenly, Natalia's face felt hot, and immediately her gaze shot away while she felt something thumping wildly in her chest.

"Anyway," Pavel continued. "We have prepared extraction."

"Negative," Price replied. "If we come with you, there's a higher risk of being killed. We need to stay off the radar. All of you extract and meet up with Nikolai when you can."

Natalia quickly translated for Pavel, who sighed, muttering "if you say so" before starting up the stairs. He waved over Alex, who nodded and unslung his shotgun. Tucking the stock under his arm, he apprehensively approached the door, Pavel opening it while Alex quickly stuck the barrel out. It bumped into something, and Alex peeked down the sights to find a five-man team of Russian soldiers stacking up on the door. The man who was being muzzle-poked froze in place, holding a breaching charge in midair.

The two exchanged blinks before Pavel yanked Alex down the stairs and slammed the door shut.

This was followed by an emptying of rounds straight through the door, making a sizeable hole in less than a second. Pavel's team quickly went back down the stairs, getting back into cover while Pavel himself casually sat on the steps. He patiently went through his pouches while he waited for them to cease fire. He looked up with a satisfied smirk when it was over, and heard a faint "move in" echo from upstairs.

He ripped out a makeshift explosive he fashioned from some blocks of C4, wiring, and an old cellphone. Resources were running low, and he used this same trick during the civil war. Prepping it, he tossed it straight up into the ceiling, the charge sticking due to the tape he wrapped it in. He quickly slipped into cover and pulled out another phone, this one serving to trigger the detonation.

When he heard footsteps on the stairs, he started repeatedly mashing a button on the phone, waiting for the device to activate. On the fourth press, the cell detonated, shaking the room with a deafening boom. The explosion obliterated the attackers, blowing them to pieces and sending their wrecked weapons tumbling to the bottom of the stairs.

Natalia shook her head, trying to eliminate the intense ringing in her ears. Her vision was blurry, and what came into focus first was a severed arm on the ground. On one end was a curled hand, and on the other end was the bloodstained torn remains of a sleeve, just barely covering a flash of white. Natalia scanned the rest of the room, seeing blood scattered throughout, and red paste coating the stairs and the surrounding walls.

Natalia resisted the urge to gag, and felt incredibly weak after viewing the scene. Gore was an inevitability in war, but she'd never been in close quarters with such horror. While she stood, shaking violently from the shock, she noticed that Pavel was completely unfazed, maybe even content. On the other end of the spectrum, she saw Alex bending over and heard him retching loudly once she turned away.

"That's one way to end a fight before it starts," Price said, flicking a giblet off his boonie hat, his face twisted into an expression of minor disgust.

"All right… _now_ we can move out," Pavel shrugged. "Sorry for subjecting you guys to that."

Natalia started up the stairs, her foot stepping on something with a sickening crunch. Trying to ignore it, she took a breath and stepped up, slipping on the object and falling back down the stairs. She opened her eyes again at the bottom, feeling a repulsing stickiness on her exposed skin and a layer of god-knows-what coating her body. She quietly began to whine in disgust, gritting her teeth to avoid crying out in pure repugnance. Her nausea slowly overcame her as she gagged, slowly getting up.

Without a second thought, Pavel took hold of her hand and led her up, taking special care not to let her fall.

They emerged into the remains of the building, completely destroyed by the BTR fire. The remains of an RPG warhead sat on the floor, still smoking. An eerie silence took over, the only sound being the sporadic tap of raindrops as another downpour started.

Peter grabbed a random bottle of soap off a nearby table and pressed it into Natalia's other hand. She sighed, flicking the cap off before apathetically pouring the whole bottle over herself. Natalia swept aside her soaked bangs before sticking her arms out as to let the rain wash her. She detached her rig and tossed it out into the street, letting the rain soak it and clean the blood off.

Pavel scanned the area and glanced back at Natalia. He found himself staring at her for longer than he should have. But only now did he notice her supple curves, the way her body looked as her wet clothes clung to her skin. He never paid any kind of mind to the way she appeared at all, in fact, but oddly now he did. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized how attractive she actually was in the first place. He didn't really have a thing for blondes, either.

_Why do I even care all of a sudden? _Pavel shrugged, grateful she didn't catch him.

She looked back at him, assuming he was making sure everybody was ready. Sure, she seemed fine as far as body language indicated. But Pavel could see something was wrong, looking into her eyes. Natalia had developed a slight twitch, and her pupils were dilated. She appeared to be gazing into space, her thousand-yard-stare returning.

The detachment in her eyes was always there, but at the moment it was more severe than ever. There was no denying it – Natalia was nearing her breaking point. It was only a matter of time before she was crushed completely.

She definitely wasn't thinking either. The team set off to move to their LZ. Sergei watched from behind Natalia as she reached into her back pocket and pulled out her pack of cigarettes. She produced the last one, dropping the box as she held it up to her trembling lips. Seemingly unaware of the rain, she attempted to light it, and put away the lighter as she continued to hold the cylinder in her mouth. She pulled it out, blowing into the air as if she were actually smoking. It was definitely a disturbing sight to witness.

Pavel waved them to a small, one-story restaurant, the roof being the location of their LZ. Alex blew off the hinges of the door with his shotgun before Pavel entered to ensure it was clear. He flashed a thumbs-up, and the soldiers entered quietly.

"Petrova, Chernenko, get on security. Kuznetsov, watch the door. Kaminski, help me locate the roof access," Pavel ordered, tapping Alex to follow.

Sergei kept his scope trained on a very specific window in an apartment complex about two blocks out. He could have sworn he saw movement for a second.

"Petrova. Slowly back away from the window. Chernenko, you too," he whispered.

The helicopter's buzzing grew louder as it approached the area. Pavel took out a flare and began to start up the ladder, but not before Sergei interrupted him.

"Hold, hold, hold!" he said. "Something feels off. Don't go up just yet. Uh, Petrova, can you have them shine a searchlight on that building about two blocks south of us?"

Natalia nodded, pressing her PTT button.

"Archangel 1-2, this is Poacher 3-1. Could you illuminate those apartments south of us with your searchlight? Over."

"Roger that."

The brilliant white flooded the face of the building, its path visible through the rain. The specific window Sergei was watching produced a momentary glint, confirming his fear.

"Shit, we have a sniper in that building there," he announced. "Sixth floor window, about three from the-!"

Peter quickly opened up on a soldier with an RPG who came out on the roof of the building across the street. All of the windows flipped open and a storm of gunfire erupted, peppering the wall and smashing the windows of the building Poacher was located in. The rounds relentlessly tore through the restaurant, pinging as they hit tile and ruptured condiment dispensers and shakers.

"CONTACT!" Peter screamed, letting out long bursts, only breaking to snap to different targets.

Natalia kicked over a table nearby Sergei to shield him before grabbing the back of his vest and yanking him behind a wall.

"Shit, thanks for the save."

"They've got RPGs!" Peter said. "Wave them off! WAVE THEM OFF!"

"No time, we need to extract!" Pavel denied, making his way over to Natalia and taking her mic. "Archangel, Archangel! Pull off and engage these contacts!"

"_Got it. Firing rockets, danger close._"

The Mi-8 began to circle around for an attack run on the building with the sniper, its 57mm rockets popping all over the complex and exploding inside. It came back around to hit the building across the street, flying dangerously low to make sure no friendlies on the ground were harmed. It continued to fire, orbiting the restaurant narrowly dodging the white streaks of RPG warheads.

"_It's a clusterfuck down there,_" Irina said. "_You guys are surrounded on all sides. It'll be a hot extract. We can't._"

"Secondary is too far!"

"_Here, there's another building west of you guys,_" Dmitri offered. "_It's the one side we're not seeing guys on. Wide, open street, though. We'll keep 'em busy, just get going._"

"Roger. Come on guys, follow me!"

Natalia got up and started to run, spraying her PM-9 to the side as she sprinted out of the building. She began to hear the background conversations between the bird's crew, becoming slightly nervous.

"_Sh-Shit! Tasha, we're Winchester on rockets!_"

"_Fuck! All right, Volkov! Get on the gun in the back!_"

The chopper flew in ahead of them, low enough for them to see the crew chief on the machine gun firing enough to make the barrel glow. Suddenly, he crumpled backwards into the helicopter, holding his side.

"_Damn, Volkov is hit! Irina, on the gun! We can't let them die!_"

"_Hold on, lemme check on him! Dmitri… Dmitri, are you all right? DMITRI! He's not responding. I'm moving aft."_

"_Irina, are you all right?"_

"_Don't bother, keep this thing moving! Focus on flying!"_

The helicopter hovered in the same place for a couple of seconds, and right as it began to move, an RPG slammed into the tail. It spiraled out of control, becoming a spinning, airborne coffin headed straight for the soldiers on the ground.

"_We're hit! Going down! Fuck, fuck, fuck, pull away you son of a bitch! Away from our guys! Shit, we're going right for them!"_

"TURN AROUND, TURN AROUND!" Pavel yelled as the chopper flew straight towards them. "NATALIA!"

Knowing there would be no outrunning it, he sprinted with all his strength next to Natalia before tackling her to the side, trying to shield her with his body. He squeezed her tightly as they both fell to the ground, tumbling behind a nearby car right before the aircraft made impact with the ground.

That was the last thing either of them remembered before the crash.

* * *

"GO! GO! GO!" the crew chief of the Blackhawk ordered, kicking the fastropes out of his bird.

Without needing to think, James took hold of the rope and slid down flawlessly, moving forwards to the nearest cover and kneeling behind it. He aimed his weapon down the street, already seeing an enemy soldier approaching. He flicked the fire selector with his thumb and tapped out three shots, bringing the enemy down.

"Contact," he deadpanned, going full auto and engaging more enemies coming in.

Clarke came up beside him and put down his bipod before opening up on the soldiers coming that way. James took this opportunity to shift his focus to a nearby building, where soldiers on the roof opened fire. Dunn quickly popped off his M320 grenade launcher, knocking out a couple of enemies with a 40mm grenade and sending one straight off the roof.

The helicopters quickly pulled away, only one of the two birds in the pair releasing its occupants.

"Hunter 2-1, this is Bandit One! Sitrep!"

Foley got up against the wall and peeked out, drawing his head back into cover before a couple of rounds cut through the air. He keyed his radio, wiping his brow while brass clattered a few feet away before being tossed around by round impacts.

"This is 2-1, be advised, we've met contact and are taking heavy fire from the west! 2-2 can link up with you and move to the square, but we're currently pinned and will be unable to assist."

"Shit! Understood, 2-1."

Dunn reloaded for the third time in the span of a single minute, smacking the bolt release on his carbine. He let loose a second grenade in frustration.

"Damn it, of all the times not to have access to CAS!" he groaned.

"I'm out," James announced, ducking back behind the wall and looking behind himself.

The other Rangers were fanning out into the street behind them, waving them over. They began to head down the street, but a soldier watching their back yelled something at them. Some turned and ran back into the street the helicopter inserted them on, but others began to continue down the street.

Suddenly, a bunch of the Rangers headed down the street fell to the ground, torn apart by a heavy machine gun. The soldier on security fell backwards, a round having taken off his face. Then, an armored vehicle rounded the corner, accompanied by a swarm of enemies.

"FUCK! B! T! R!" James screamed, starting to run across the street, away from the vehicle.

An RPG impacted the ground in front of him and the other soldiers, forcing them to turn around. They saw the Rangers headed for them quickly shot down by the advancing IFV and soldiers.

"Head west! Towards the enemy!"

_ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS? _Dunn screamed internally.

The four narrowly avoided the wind of hot lead they charged into, the enemy rounds hitting the ground mere inches from their legs. Their lungs burned as they dumped all of their energy into getting away from the BTR and zigzagging down the street.

"Left!" Foley ordered, spraying his weapon at the enemy while the other three got into the alleyway. "Ramirez!"

James winced.

"Get that door open! NOW!"

He kicked the door with full force, pretending it was Foley. Clarke rolled in a flashbang before they entered. They had found the fire stairs of the building.

"Clarke, watch the door! Let's go! Ramirez! On point!"

Ramirez dashed up the stairs with the other Rangers behind him. Something about the whole situation felt really familiar. It was probably the urgency – except this time, it was to save his own life. Not to save the White House.

When they made it to the top, they all collapsed, breathing heavily. Foley coughed violently. Dunn scooted up against the wall, sucking away a fourth of the water in his hydration carrier,

"Damn, man," he wheezed. "Dunno what was scarier. That, or the EMP."

"Hey, you guys see that? Smoke. To the west. Where the bad guys were."

Foley looked out the window to see a cloud of black billowing into the sky.

"Did one of our birds go down?" he said, checking his radio.

Nothing happened. He rubbed his hand along the green box attached to his plate carrier and felt something jutting out of it.

"Your radio's hit. Out of commission, Sergeant," James said.

"Well… fuck. What now?" Dunn sighed.

"Skies were clear on the way here, so it couldn't have been anything else. We need to get over there and investigate."

At that point, the enemy fire had ceased, the Russians believing that they had neutralized the threat.

"Let's do it. We need to help them out if there's anybody still left," James sternly agreed. "Hooah?"

"Hooah. He's right. Let's go," Dunn said, putting his hand on James' shoulder. "Looks like Moore really rubbed off on ya, huh…?"

James shrugged.

"Maybe. I dunno, man."

Foley kept his eyes on the smoke, watching intently through his binoculars.

"It's only two blocks out. If we stay out of the streets and move through the buildings, we should be good."

* * *

Pavel weakly opened his eyes, the first sight being Natalia's unconscious face. Her expression wasn't one of pain. She almost seemed as if she were sleeping. Pavel felt a growing heat nearby, probably the flames of the wreckage.

"Petrova. Petrova. Are you okay?" he quietly asked, only to receive no response. "Oh, no…"

He rolled away and looked around. The buildings surrounding him were in rubble. Nearby was the burning remains of Archangel 1-2's helicopter. Looking back at Natalia, he let out a sigh of relief when he saw her chest rising and falling.

Pavel noticed movement by the bird. He froze in place, unable to make out who it was through the blur. He raised his pistol, his arms wobbling as he tried to line up his sights. But he heard a woman sobbing, and he instantly lowered it.

He headed towards the person, and found three figures in flight suits. One knelt above another, and another lay motionless behind the two.

"Damn it, Tasha… p-please. D-D-Don't do this to me. Don't…" Irina whispered, repeatedly thrusting her palm into the chest of her partner. "…T-Tasha!"

The redhead on the ground remained unresponsive, her eyes half-open, glassy, devoid of life. Her arm lay to the side, palm up, her delicate fingers curled. Then, Pavel traced the path of red leading to the chopper, then back to Tasha's body. Her leg was completely gone.

The brunette copilot's arms began to falter, as she realized the hopelessness of her efforts. She slowly lowered her head into the Tasha's chest, beginning to cry softly.

"Tasha… Tasha… this wasn't supposed to happen. Damn it… you n-never got to know h-how I f-felt about y-y-you."

Irina pressed a piece of paper into the dead pilot's hand and slowly closed it around the note. She brought her face close to Tasha's, pulling down her balaclava, Irina's lips hovering near the pilot's cheek.

Her hand ran down Tasha's body and came to rest on the pistol strapped to her torso. As she took hold of the grip, Irina softly kissed Tasha's cheek. She brought the gun up, her hand shaking as she brought it up to her head.

"Haha… you promised me that if we died, we'd die together. You lied to me. But I promise, I'm not mad at you. I can fix that."

"FEDOROVA! STOP IT!" Pavel snapped, quickly moving forward and slamming Irina against the wreckage, the gun clattering to the ground.

"K-K-Koslov? Wha-What are you doing? Why the hell did you stop me? L-Let go!"

Irina shifted and tried to move, but Pavel kept a firm grip, pinning her wrists against the helicopter.

"Listen. Fucking listen to me. She wouldn't want to see you like this, damn it. She'd want you to keep going. She'd want you to survive and remember her, not to die needlessly."

Tears streamed down Irina's face as she hung her head.

"She's the only friend I've had for my whole life… along with Dmitri. She was the reason why I was able to act so cheerful all the time. I can't believe that they'd leave me like this."

Pavel looked to Volkov's body. He lay perfectly straight, his eyes closed and his aviators lying a few feet away, broken. It was obvious that Irina dragged his body out and arranged it so. There was a hole in his side, where the enemy had shot him down.

He let go of Irina, who just stood, staring at her feet and continuing to cry. He turned around and saw Natalia beginning to wake up. She instantly curled up and grabbed her ribs in pain, gritting her teeth. She rolled over, opening her eyes and seeing Pavel. She held up her arm, reaching towards him as to beg for help.

Pavel hated to see her like this. He picked up the pistol and headed towards Natalia, kneeling down.

"Are you fine? What's hurting? Are you injured?" he asked concernedly.

"I- _agh, _I think I have some broken ribs. Nothing that… _agh. _Bad."

"Doesn't sound like it. Don't move. I got you."

He picked Natalia up, taking care not to hurt her any more. He pulled her arm over the back of his neck, holding the pistol in his other hand.

"We need to get out of here. Doesn't matter where. We need to leave."

Nearby, four Americans got into position.

"Shh… visual. Three pax, look like civvies. Maybe resistance… what are they doing with a chopper?"

"That's not our bird. It's an Mi-8, Russian markings and all."

"Did they take it down?"

"Dunno. Dunn, you do the honors."

They all pointed their weapons at the three, each Ranger picking a target to engage. Dunn cupped his hands and began to yell.

"AURORA! Aurora, or we will fire on you!" he boomed.

James' finger tightened around the trigger as he sighted in on the blonde woman being braced by the man. He really didn't want to fire, but he knew that he wouldn't have a choice. He braced himself for what he was about to do.

Pavel's eyes widened when he heard the call from behind himself. He realized that whoever was saying it was probably aiming at them, and if he didn't remember what it was, they'd all be dead.

_Fuck… fuck. What was it? What was the goddamn response?_

Natalia looked at Pavel, breathing heavily. She knew the response, but she felt too weak to tell him. She tried to whisper it, but choked on her words. He couldn't hear anything she was trying to say.

_It's "Tokyo," damn it! _she thought, eyes fluttering as she looked at him.

James let out a deep breath and closed his eyes. It was very likely that these people were resistance or civilians or the like, who wouldn't know the call-and-response. But protocol was protocol. If there's one thing he'd learned, it's that anything could be a threat.

_Please, say "Tokyo." Don't make me do this._

* * *

**I know I'm a total dick for leaving you people on another cliffhanger. I'm like that. Because reasons. And I know, I've put Natalia in danger – yet again. Poor thing will never get a break.**

**I've really been pushing to finish this one earlier, guys. I do it for you-! You can see it reflected in the quality of the chapter. It started out nice, and I progressively got lazier. I'm an asshole.**

**I apologize if the nasty stuff was excessive. I feel like I really have to drive the point home as to how horrible the situations Natalia is put through, and the intense effects it has on her. She's really broken, and she's almost at her final breaking point. **

**I know I've brought in a lot of implied shipping here, between Nat and Pavel. You guys might have been caught off guard. But, I have been planning this for a while now, and I've hinted at it. It's really simple, honestly. Natalia's a damaged soul who has no other place to go, except for maybe someone who can be with her to help make her wounds hurt less. And Pavel is a detached, impersonal soldier who's seen plenty of war and needs to learn to care and love again. **

**Yeah, there was no way to make this chapter not feelsy. I decided to go all-out. I mean, poor Irina and Tasha… it's like Jenna and Brooke all over again. I dunno what's with all this femslash. Then again… the CoD fandom has plenty of male slash/yaoi. It's fair.**

**In case you ask, yes, Pavel's explosive device is pretty much a nitro cell from Rainbow Six: Siege. Been playing that a lot lately.**

**Chapter title is a reference to Versa/VersaEmerge's song "Whisperer." That band also did "Past Praying For," which I regard to be RLW's official theme song.**

**We're back to the Rangers, and you can see that Ramirez has really gotten good at his job. Doesn't stop him from hating it.**

**Overall, this entire chapter is a wild ride, and part of the general trainwreck that is this fic.**

**Before I forget: a reply to anon reviewer, ****the nerfanatoe (UPDATE: He spelled it wrong in the review, it's actually "nerfanator"), I quote:  
"since i know that you love reviews i will tell you something. there were 2 femail ranger applacent yyyyaaaaayyyyy."**

**Listen man, don't mean to be rude, but… ****That was possibly the weirdest comment I've seen on my fic. I don't wanna be a jerk, but meth is one helluva drug, dude. I think you're trying to tell me something 'bout those female Ranger candidates from last year. I keep up with the news, I already know about it.**

**That being said, that wasn't really a review. You didn't actually say anything about the story. So yeah, so much for that.**

**Anyway folks, it's 2AM, I decided to wrap this thing up, so there you go. Hope you enjoyed, and if you didn't, deal with it. And if you only care about Jenna's side, well too bad, Natalia is just as important, frankly. She will be receiving lots of attention, mainly because of how much I neglected her in last chapters. Why?**

_**I do what I want because well shit yo it's not like I'm the one who writes this**_

**Plus, my friend says she's best girl in this fic. And you never deny best girl. (And like hell is Jenna best girl. She's a massive pile of shit. I would know, because I write her.)**

**UPDATE: I swear, some of you guys treat the reviews like a comment section. AND IS THIS "NATASHA" SHIT GONNA BE A RUNNING JOKE BECAUSE FUCK**

**Anyway, PM me up if you:**

**-Got feedback  
-Have questions regarding the story  
-Don't understand something  
-HAVE BEEN TRIGGERED OMFG CHECK UR PRIVILEGE THIS IS OFFENSIVE  
-Have seen anything else out there on the web pertaining to this fic  
-Want to talk shit to me because you don't like what I'm doing**

**Anyway, go do something productive with your lives. Playing CoD is bad enough but reading fanfiction about it is also pretty sad. (This comes from the dude who _writes_ it.)**


	32. Toying With Time V2

**Yo, fools. Back at you with another update, because it's time for things to get real. Even more than they were already. You think that was as bad as it gets? Because you're in for some serious memes.**

**Anyway, needless to say, I'm a bit disappointed with the reception of the last chapter. You guys seem to not like Natalia very much. That's… kind of a problem. Sort of. Because this chapter might… uh, you know. Involve her. A lot. Maybe focus entirely on her arc. Because.**

**So calm yourselves, wipe away your tears because Jenna won't be showing up this chap either, and strap in because stuff is gonna go down.**

**[UPDATE: So in the end, I've decided that I'd go ahead and take down this chap and rewrite it for a multitude of reasons. Best way to put it, my writing was impaired to some extent and the original version was not up to par.]**

* * *

"Natalia?" Pavel quietly asked. "Do you know the response?"

"Ten seconds," Dunn whispered to the other Rangers, pulling his sleeve so he could see his watch.

Natalia could feel her strength draining as she struggled to hold herself up against Pavel's body. She was feeling too weak to say anything, and everything was slowly fading. Her eyelids began to drift closed, her hand tightening around Pavel's shirt.

No, she couldn't lose herself. Not now. She had to tell him the response. They were all good as dead if she didn't.

"Three seconds."

Pavel suddenly felt the weak grip on his shirt release, and Natalia's weight abruptly pulling down on him. He lost his balance as Natalia's legs went limp, making her collapse. Pavel quickly regained his step and caught her before she hit the ground, kneeling down just in time to stop her head from knocking against the pavement. No doubting that she was unconscious.

"Fuck. FUCK!" he yelled, standing up, still carrying Natalia. "Do not shoot! I don't know the response! Come on!"

Clarke's finger began to tighten around the trigger of his M249, but before he could light them up, Foley stood up.

"Hold fire!" he ordered, waving them down, but still keeping his barrel pointed at the three Russians. "Just give 'em a break."

James let out his breath, taking his finger out of the trigger guard and resting it on the fire selector on his rifle. He was relieved that he wouldn't have to shoot them. Admittedly, he would have felt like shit for firing at an unconscious person.

"Move up," Foley added, beginning to approach the Russians. "Clarke. Dunn. Disarm them."

The Rangers ran up to take them down, but Pavel noticed something scribbled on Natalia's palm. The name of some city…

"_Tokyo! It's Tokyo!"_ he yelled.

Upon hearing those words, the Rangers lowered their weapons and slowed down. They stopped and waited for Foley to approach first before turning around, kneeling, and keeping security.

"Foley, US Army Rangers. Who the hell are you guys?"

Pavel struggled to find his words. It would have been very nice if his translator wasn't passed out.

"Koslov. We are from GRU and VDV Spetsnaz. Poacher Group. We are not Ultranationalist. Under orders from Vorshevsky. We are here to find Makarov."

A collective, almost comical gasp came from the four Rangers, and Dunn even looked back to blurt, "Fucking Makarov? _The_ Makarov?"

"You need to help us. Helicopter crashed, and my… partner here is unconscious."

"Wait wait wait… since when are the Russians tryin' to clap this guy?" Clarke interrupted, very much confused at why Russians were all of a sudden friendly.

"Shut the fuck up," James muttered.

He could have sworn he saw movement somewhere in his peripheral vision at that very moment. He adjusted his grip on the SCAR-H in his hands, bringing the weapon to high ready and preparing for contact. His eyes methodically scanning the buildings surrounding them, he immediately focused on a specific rooftop he heard footsteps from. He saw a barrel poke out from the top of the apartment, and immediately he snapped the muzzle of his rifle in that direction and prepared to engage.

"Contact."

At those words, all of the Rangers dropped what they were doing and brought their weapons to bear, quickly finding cover while sweeping the area for enemy soldiers. Pavel nodded at Irina before picking up Natalia and sprinting into a nearby alleyway.

He slid to a stop when a soldier rounded the corner, shotgun pointed straight at him. He slowly backed away, knowing that with Natalia in his arms he wouldn't be able to take the man down. Irina lowered her personal MP412 revolver when she saw Pavel's expression of defeat as he stepped backwards. Sighing, she slipped it back into the holster on her vest.

A distant, commanding voice echoed through the empty streets, the crackling of static accompanying it indicating that it was being spoken through a megaphone.

"Surrender arms. You are surrounded. Do not attempt to resist."

The enemy personnel surrounding the seven stood up and revealed themselves, James estimating at least thirty people. Watching several of them rappelling down from the rooftops, he grunted and dropped his weapon, feeling the sling tug on his body. He felt extremely helpless, seeing all of these vodka-drunk cunts converge on them. He'd fought his way out of much worse odds before.

A certain intruding thought immediately entered his mind.

_What would Jenna do right now?_

James smirked at the thought. He knew his former battle buddy much too well. She would be the type to flip her shit, kicking and screaming while yelling indignantly as she was dragged off. Hell, on a bad day she might have even been stupid enough to put up a fight. Spray her rifle everywhere without hitting anything, pull out her pistol and snap off a few guys, whip out her knife, and resort to her fists lastly.

Just thinking about her made his heart sink in sadness. Despite the horrible odds, he felt like he'd be able to take on the whole fucking Russian army with her by his side. But she wasn't there, so there was no making it out of this one. He was half-tempted to attempt his idea, but ruled it out as completely stupid and decided to comply with the orders.

Pavel gritted his teeth when he noticed just how many soldiers they were up against. It brought back bitter memories of the Russian Civil War. The Loyalists had the edge with technology and better-trained personnel. But there would always be a swarm of Ultranationalists throwing themselves straight at them with full force.

Just the fact that the whole mission went wrong made him feel like shit. Poacher Group had come so far and finally gotten their opportunity, only for it to be totally blown. Not only did the bastard Makarov escape, but the whole team was reduced to three people. He didn't want to accept failure, not this time.

The other five stood up, raising their hands into the air and accepting defeat. The Russians began to descend on them, coming out of doors and roping down from the roofs. And of course, there was the sensation of thirty muzzles all facing their direction and the inevitable storm of hot lead that would follow if they tried to fight back.

There was no knowing what would happen to them when captured. Ultranationalists weren't particularly known for having any regard for Geneva protocols or even common decency. If the hanged civilians throughout Prague were any kind of indication, at least.

Pavel felt particularly nervous for the two women present. He would have a better chance at protecting Natalia (as she was unconscious), but there was no telling that Irina would be safe. If any of his experience in the Civil War said anything, the Ultranationalists wouldn't spare her.

He began to wonder what the hell happened to the three remaining people on the team. He hadn't encountered them ever since the crash. He didn't see their bodies anywhere, but it would have been difficult to survive the crash. Natalia just barely survived, and that was just because he shielded her.

"OH, YOU'VE DONE IT NOW! YOU'RE DEAD! DEADER THAN ZAKHAEV!"

Pavel heard a voice he actually recognized cry out in the distance. He smirked, wondering if his thoughts somehow summoned them.

Of course they wouldn't go down without a fight…

"YOU HEAR ME, MOTHERFUCKERS!? DEAD! COME ON GUYS! _FUCK! THEM! UP!_"

A light machine gun somewhere opened up on the men rappelling down the buildings, sending their bodies smacking across the ground. A surprisingly accurate storm of rounds cutting through the air caught to enemy off guard, sending them into a frantic search for the source of the fire. James took the opportunity to bring his weapon back to the ready and begin shooting soldiers left and right, quickly getting back to cover and continuing to engage.

Clarke smiled ever-so-disturbingly, slamming his bipod down on a nearby concrete barrier and laughing violently, drowning out his own voice with his M249 SAW. He ripped out rounds at soldiers already on the street, peppering their bodies with lead or sending them diving to cover in fear. He knew exactly how to suppress the enemy the right way. That was for sure.

Pavel carried Natalia to the wreckage of the helicopter and set her down gently before unslinging his AK. He checked the magazine, only to find that it had somehow been knocked out, probably in the crash. He fumbled through his nearly-empty pouches for a new one, cursing his luck. An enemy rounded the corner, muzzle-checking Pavel. A shot rang out, and the soldier's head was completely bisected, a cloud of gray matter staining the fuselage of the helicopter.

Sergei grinned, flashing a thumbs-up even though he knew that Koslov wouldn't see it. He cycled his bolt, humming as he took out easy targets. Peter continued to keep up his suppression, taking up a rifle when his machine gun's belt ran dry. It soon began to be clear that the enemy discovered their position when RPGs started impacting close by and the bricks of the building started to shatter.

"Standby, displacing," Sergei announced, getting up.

He turned to Alex, who was still frustrated that his shotgun wouldn't be of use at that range. Tapping Alex on the shoulder, he reached for a nearby AKS-74U he grabbed on the way.

"It's good, Kaminski. Here, let me get it for-!"

_CRACK._

A retaliatory round tore through Sergei's chest, leaving a gaping hole in his torso. He dropped backwards, eyes wide open as he let out a bloody cough. After about five seconds, his eyes drifted half-closed, his arm dropping onto the ground.

Alex stared at Sergei's corpse, completely dumbfounded. He began to twitch, something inside him suddenly snapping. His friend was dead. He died because he tried to get him a new weapon so he could actually do something.

It all happened so fast. They only started engaging half a minute earlier, and they'd already lost a man.

"God, no… no, no, no. Sergei? Come on, man! Not now! Not… now."

Alex began to back away, collapsing against the wall, not breaking sight with the body. He looked into Sergei's lifeless eyes, which stared back up at him, devoid of any emotion. A man who was alive only seconds ago, now a carcass flung to the ground.

Alex began to feel something inside… something he never felt before. His entire sense of self-preservation left first. Then came the absolute loss of the emotions he was feeling other than absolute rage. As the last of his sanity faded away, Alex felt himself let go.

And at that moment, he finally snapped.

Peter reloaded his LMG, turning to the side to see that Kuznetsov was down, and that Kaminski… something was wrong with him.

"Chernenko," he growled. "Reload that fucking thing faster."

Peter saw Kaminski practically shaking, his eyes twitching violently. He flipped open the cover on his PKP, quickly settling a new belt in before slamming the cover down.

"I'm moving as soon as you pull that trigger."

Once Peter opened up, Alex charged out, screaming at the top of his lungs as he sprinted straight at the wreckage.

"Shit! How the fuck is he going so fast!?"

Darting from cover to cover, Alex quickly made his way up towards the enemy, wrath consuming his entire being.

"DIE, YOU PIECES OF SHIT!"

Pavel saw him fly by, blasting off a soldier's face in midair as he continued to run.

"DIE!"

Two shells into another guy's chest, turning it into a bloody cavity.

"DIE!"

Tackling a man taking aim at Dunn and then firing straight into his back.

"DIE, FUCKING BUTCHERS!"

Alex stopped momentarily, slamming himself against a car to brace himself. He realized he was completely shaking, and something inside of him was telling him to kill. He wasn't scared at all. He peeked over the hood of the car and saw the sniper who killed Sergei. She was perched atop a building, patiently reloading her rifle.

Alex shot a glance at Dunn, who had just finished chambering a round. The two exchanged momentary eye contact, already knowing what had to be done. The Ranger unleashed a burst of fire to help neutralize a pair of enemies approaching the car, drawing their attention just long enough for Alex to continue his sprint.

He kicked the window and vaulted into the building, shotgun at the ready. He dashed up the stairs, shooting about four soldiers on the way up until he made it to the roof access. Reloading his weapon, he readied himself. Taking a deep breath, he knocked down the door and ran straight at the sniper.

"Wha-?" she stammered, turning around and seeing Alex coming straight for her.

The sniper drew her sidearm, but the shotgunner was already in range. He fired a single frag shell, completely severing her arm. She screamed in agony, clutching at the stump. She got up and began to run away, but Alex merely lowered his shotgun and put another shell into her legs, completely crippling her.

She rolled over, completely filled with fear as she stared up at the man above her. His eyes were bloodshot, and he breathed heavily as he reached down to pick her up.

"This is for Sergei, you piece of shit!"

Pavel saw Alex shove the sniper off the building, hearing the sickening crack of a neck breaking upon contact with the ground.

Foley witnessed the whole thing too. Seeing that one man singlehandedly cleared it out, he knew that they had their opportunity to break through and escape.

"Quick, alleyway right there! We're oscar mike!"

James stayed back to cover them out. Seeing the Rangers retreating, Irina started to follow, firing her revolver as she ran. Her foot suddenly caught on the curb, and she tripped, falling face first onto the sidewalk. James promptly dispatched a soldier about to take her out, and darted forwards to pull her back to safety.

"Fuck… FUCK!" he snapped, seeing more enemies pour in.

Seeing that Pavel was completely dry, James alone began to empty his ammo into the Russians swarming them. He continued to fire until his barrel was steaming. Then… the weapon failed, completely jamming.

No time to clear a jam. He took out his M9, completely depleting his fifteen rounds.

There was no choice. They were closing in, he was completely out of ammo, and there was no chance of hand-to-hand fighting his way out either.

"CEASE FIRE! CEASE FIRE!" he screamed, standing up and throwing his hands in the air.

Pavel and Irina both came to the realization that there was no making it out either, and followed suit. Surprisingly, the storm of enemy rounds stopped, although the three could still feel muzzles trained on them.

The brief skirmish wasn't enough to save them at all. Three of the Rangers escaped, but Pavel, Natalia, Irina, and James were all left to be captured. Basically, they were at square one. Actually, they were a step back further, considering that the Russians would be kind of angry at that point.

Once again, they raised their arms in surrender, having to face the humiliation of being defeated yet a second time.

Then came the trampling of boots down the street, accompanied by brief orders in Russian.

James grunted as two soldiers turned him around and slammed him against the crashed helicopter, searching his body. He let out a reduced grunt when he felt a heel smash against the back of his leg, bringing him to his knee. The soldiers tightened flex cuffs against his wrists, the plastic cutting into his arms. A sudden wet, sticky splash hit the back of his neck, followed by laughter.

"Keep spitting on me, you fucking cunts…" he muttered.

They stood him up and had him remain near the other two, who also received equally rude treatment from the Ultranationalists. An officer approached, periodically glancing at a document in his hand as he inspected the prisoners.

"These two," he said, gesturing at James and Irina, "aren't of any significance. But…"

He pointed at both Pavel and Natalia.

"They're with these HVIs," the officer continued. "Secure them, bring them to Firebase Karlstejn, question them, and secure them so we can send them out for further interrogation."

A soldier, presumably an NCO, nodded and turned towards the four prisoners. Realizing that one of them was obviously unconscious, he determined that transfer would probably be easier if all of them were out cold. As a BTR pulled up, he ordered his men to knock them out.

Pavel watched as Irina was hit across the face with the butt of an AK, crying out in pain as she crumpled to the ground. The soldiers hit James in the stomach first before rendering him unconscious, dealing extra pain after noticing his American uniform and the flag patch on his arm. The last thing Pavel saw was the battered wood stock headed into his vision.

* * *

_Five years earlier_

Private Pavel Ivanovich Koslov cradled his AK-74M nervously, sitting across from his friend, Vadim. Flanking him were fellow Loyalist soldiers, all fresh out of training and new to the Russian Ground Forces.

"Pavel," Vadim said reassuringly, keeping his voice hushed. "There's no need to worry. We'll have support from British SAS snipers."

Vadim glanced around, and looked back at Pavel.

"You know… they say that the SAS is better than even GRU Spetsnaz."

Pavel nodded, slightly comforted by the fact that they wouldn't be headed into this alone. Ultranationalist-controlled BM21s had been firing rockets onto nearby villages, and every previous attack failed to eliminate the threat.

"On top of that… you've got us, buddy," Anton, another friend, added. "We just need to coordinate and watch each other's backs."

"I'll make sure to look out for you guys," Katya, the squad medic, chirped with a smile.

At the time, Pavel felt much safer being surrounded by friends. He was too naïve to realize that making friends was probably the worst choice to make in times of war. He cared too much about these people, and this operation would be his first taste of a bitter lesson he would have to eventually swallow.

Vadim's radio fuzzed with static, before their Sergeant's voice entered Vadim's headset.

"All units. Commence the attack," Kamarov ordered.

"We're cleared to engage," Vadim announced, pulling out his AK. "Anton, is your RPG armed?"

"Roger," Anton confirmed, backing up and kneeling in front of a window, looking behind himself. "Backblast clear."

"Good, keep that thing trained on those BM21s in case this doesn't work. Pavel, Katya, I have the charges. Let's move out," Vadim nodded.

As if on cue, the vehicles started firing their payloads into the sky to rain down on friendly forces assaulting a nearby village. The three Loyalist soldiers carefully made their way up the hill, sneaking up under the cover of darkness. Unfortunately, the darkness made it difficult for them to tread carefully and avoid traps. Yet, they edged their way towards the artillery step by step.

"What's your status?" Kamarov radioed in. "How much time do you need?"

"Halfway up the hill… we're trying our best not to step on mines here," Vadim reported. "We need about five mikes… what's Team Two's status?"

"Team Two has been wiped out. You need to hurry up and take those BM21s out! We're sustaining heavy casualties down here, damn it!"

"Roger that. Guys, we need to double-time it."

With that, Vadim stepped forwards, and immediately felt his foot press onto something solid, hearing a hollow, metallic thud. Before he could pull back, the mine detonated, blowing his leg off and sending him rolling down the hill.

Everything went wrong so quickly, and it was difficult for the inexperienced soldiers to process it.

"Pavel!" Katya immediately shouted. "Can you cover me? I'm going to help Vadim."

Pavel nodded, rolling off his back and aiming up the hill. Small arms fire began to impact the dirt nearby, throwing particles of dust into his face. But… how could people at the top of the hill be hitting the side of it?

With this realization, he turned around and saw the house they were previously in occupied by Ultranationalists. He then noticed a soldier taking an RPG off the body of Anton and taking aim.

"RPG!"

The projectile flew upwards, missing Pavel and slamming into the side of the hill above him. Katya whipped around to check if Pavel was intact, failing to notice a rifleman in the house lining up his shot. A round ripped through the back of her head, completely tearing her patrol cap off. Her body fell face first into the soil, her bloodstained jet black hair spilling over her head.

"Come in! Does anybody copy? We need those damned things gone!" Kamarov's voice pleaded over the radio.

Pavel slowly crawled down to the two bodies, searching blindly for the explosive charges. He felt something sticky across his hands as he fumbled for them, a few chunks of something soft too. He grimaced, holding his hands up and seeing a faint red through the darkness.

He wasn't sure whether it was Vadim's blood, Katya's blood, or his own. It was obvious, however, whose brains were all over his hands.

After retrieving the packages of Semtex, he once again looked up at the BM21s, his hands shaking. His whole team was dead in the course of five minutes, and he was the only one left to complete the objective.

He wouldn't be able to take out the men at the base of the hill. He was outnumbered, and not even a good enough shot. Where the hell were those snipers they were promised? This wouldn't have happened if they were helping at all.

Pavel got up and ran up the hill, having a split second before the soldiers behind him opened up. The bullets impacted dangerously close, buzzing right next to Pavel's ears. He gritted his teeth, knowing that either he would step on a mine or take a round in the back.

He felt a searing pain in his right shoulder, and clawed at the wound, grunting. He fell down, collapsing onto his side as he rolled around. He stopped in place, his eyes suddenly coming to focus on an exposed mine about a foot from his face.

Drawing his pistol, Pavel rolled away from it and continued his advance up the hill. He caught a soldier at the top off guard, and quickly dispatched the enemy with the handgun. He turned a corner and encountered about two more. Emptying the mag, he took them out before immediately throwing the bag of explosives down and producing the contents.

He fed his scarf up into his mouth, biting down on it to resist the pain in his arm. He began to tear up, the blurriness obscuring his vision when he tried to set the charges. One by one, he rigged each of the vehicles before retreating down the opposite side of the hill.

There, he encountered the corpses of Team Two, ripped apart from heavy machine gun fire. Gagging, he threw himself at the foot of the hill, turning away from the carnage behind him. He repeatedly mashed the remote, feeling the shockwave of the explosion. The shockwave was enough to send him tumbling down the remainder of the slope, completely knocking him out.

Subjected to such a traumatizing experience, Pavel needed time to recover. Yet, over time, he slowly began to become accustomed to it. He learned quite rapidly that things would always go wrong, and a well-made plan could disintegrate instantly.

As he gained experience, he ended up becoming less and less affected by those dying around him. As he became more effective, he started to care less.

By the time he was recruited by GRU Spetsnaz, Pavel was completely conditioned not to feel anything. He lost his sense of concern for other people. Deep down, he knew it wasn't because he just became a cold person.

It was because he was afraid to care about other people.

* * *

Natalia awoke from her unconsciousness, drowsily righting herself. It was awfully cold… and dark. She snapped back into reality, anxiety quickly overtaking her as she looked around cautiously. She strained to see into the darkness, and could make out a figure nearby and another distant silhouette. She rubbed herself, immediately realizing that most of her clothing was gone, save her undershirt and combat pants.

"Wh-Where am I?" she whispered, beginning to panic. "Sergeant Koslov? Peter? Guys?"

An unfriendly chuckle echoed through the chamber, followed by heavy footsteps. As Natalia's eyes adjusted to the darkness, she immediately took note of the bars around her and the large man approaching.

A light flickered on, blinding her and flooding the room. Only then did she realize that she was in a cell, inside some kind of stone room. Basement? No, prison.

She quickly backed up against the wall, throwing up her arms to cover herself. This was bound to happen sooner or later.

"Sir, please, don't," she begged, sliding across the wall into a corner.

"Welcome to Castle Karlstejn," the man growled with a disturbing grin.

He took her wrists and pinned them against the wall, looking Natalia up and down, all the while still smiling. His eyes stopped at her chest region, and he leaned in closer, breathing heavily. His breath reeked of something beyond repulsive, and Natalia became nauseous.

"DON'T FUCKING TOUCH HER! GET YOUR HANDS OFF, YOU SON OF A BITCH! I'LL FUCKING TEAR YOUR COCK OFF IF YOU DO ANYTHING, YOU GOD DAMN PIECE OF SHIT!" suddenly boomed a nearby voice, followed by a clang of a body against the bars.

"P-Pavel?" Natalia stammered quietly.

"I SWEAR, YOU KEEP LOOKING AT HER LIKE THAT, I'LL GOUGE YOUR EYES OUT IF IT'S THE LAST THING I DO!"

"Don't get yourself too riled up," the man scoffed. "I'm not doing anything."

He ran his hands down Natalia's body, feeling her curves.

"Stop shaking, darling," he purred.

"S-Sir, I'll ask you again, just think this through!"

He sighed.

"You have my word that I will not do anything to you," he began. "You have both proven yourselves too dangerous to be allowed to live. Makarov doesn't like types like you, types who try to get in his way."

"H-Huh?"

"What a waste, too," he continued, taking Natalia by the chin. "You'd make an excellent delivery for one of our clients. I hear an Ultranationalist general is looking for a beauty like you."

He ran his thumb along her cheek.

"Perhaps you'd even make a suitable one for me."

"You bastard…" Pavel snarled.

"It's too bad you've been determined too dangerous for trafficking… somebody could have made some use out of you," the man concluded, exiting the cell and leaving the chamber.

Natalia slid down the wall, burying her face in her hands, quivering. She sobbed, pulling her knees in and cradling herself. Pavel got as close as the bars would let him, reaching his hand out and putting it on her head.

"Sir, I was… I was so afraid," Natalia whispered. "Because last thing I remember, Pavelovna was dead. So was Volkov."

She wiped the tears from her face.

"And then… I woke up in here. I have nightmares about my time with the Americans. I thought that the dreams became reality. I thought they were going to do unspeakable things to me."

Pavel ran his hand through her hair as she continued to cry, trying to find the words to say. Yet, he was too reluctant to actually vocalize his thoughts.

"What happened to Alex? Sergei? Peter?" she asked, looking up at Pavel.

"We lost Kuznetsov," he deadpanned, his voice devoid of any emotion whatsoever. "Chernenko and Kaminski escaped before we were captured."

"S-So... we lost… three?"

Pavel averted his eyes.

"They were acceptable losses."

Natalia stared at Pavel, shaking her head. He didn't seem to care at all. Where was his concern? Where was his sympathy? His regret for their losses? How could he be so cold?

Pavel saw her shaking her head, tears welling up in those eyes of hers. Something inside of him actually felt wrong. He actually felt bothered by the fact he just hurt her.

He couldn't deny it anymore. He couldn't deny how he felt.

"GOD DAMN IT NATALIA!" he snapped.

Natalia jumped at his sudden outburst. Pavel looked straight into her eyes, making her instantly feel extremely shy for some reason. She never noticed until then, but his dark, dreamy eyes were so… captivating. She never looked at him long enough to get caught in his stare, but now that she did, she couldn't bring herself to stop. She could see the tiredness in his face, the longing for it all to end, but the way that he carried himself never would have revealed it. He was strong, resilient. And something about the way he looked at her with gentleness and concern, it was all so foreign to her.

At the same time, Pavel couldn't help but see how beautiful _her _eyes were. They were like the lush emerald green of an isolated forest, yet still fragile like the rest of her. He could see the weariness and fatigue, but somewhere in there he still saw that glint of innocence she once had, that spark of a girl whose eyes should have never seen the horrors of war. And everything in him wished to take it all away, to bear that suffering that she never deserved.

His eyelids closed as he sighed, running a hand through his deep brown hair.

"_The only reason it's acceptable… is because it wasn't you."_

Pavel reached through the bars and took hold of her shoulders. His firm grip felt warm, especially in the frigid air, but not nearly as hot as Natalia's face became. Half of her wanted to pull away and retreat to the other end of the cell, but the other half felt so safe, so secure when she was close to him.

"Natalia," he continued.

"H-Huh?"

"I've seen a lot of things, too. You're not alone. After the Civil War… I didn't want to become attached to anybody anymore. Never again did I want to become close to someone, only to see them die in front of me."

Pavel took a breath.

"But… you're different, for some reason. I actually give a shit about you. I don't want to see you hurt anymore. I think… I think it's because I actually know how that feels. And I don't want to see you in the same position I was in. I don't want you to end up like the scum I am now."

"Sir, you're not scum at all," Natalia murmured, quickly averting her gaze to the floor to hide her face. "Y-You're actually the f-first person I know… who c-cares about me… like that."

Natalia began to feel the tears streaming down her face again, sniffling quietly. Pavel deftly wiped the tears from her eyes and took her hand.

"Why are you crying?"

"Because, well… the one time in my life I've ever amounted to anything, the first time I've meant anything in someone's eyes… we're both about to die. They're going to kill us. It's so unfair. Pavel, I…"

She couldn't say it. She couldn't find the words she wanted to say anymore.

"Remember when I found you in that safehouse? When we helped you escape?"

Natalia nodded. Pavel held her tighter, his voice becoming steadier.

"I promise, it won't be the last time. I'll get you out of here."

Natalia couldn't help but notice that she completely trusted Pavel's words. Even if they probably weren't true. And even though this was the last place she wanted to be, she felt a kind of warmth she hadn't felt for a long time. Being so close to Pavel like this, someone so determined to protect her… she realized that she liked it.

She quickly shook any intruding thoughts out of her head before she could let her mind wander. But even if she ignored everything, one thing was clear, and she wouldn't be able to force it out.

She didn't want to leave his side.

* * *

**Well, looks like you guys haven't seen this one coming!**

**A lot of shockers in this relatively short chapter. Sergei (Kuznetsov) is dead, James, Irina, Pavel, and Natalia have been captured… and most of all, Pavel and Natalia just might have feelings for each other.**

**I know, I know, it's finally happened. **

**I'm going to say sorry now for how badly this chapter turned out. It was rushed, redone, and just… blegh. Things happened way too quickly, and now part of that was intended, but it also owes to sloppy work on my part. But from the sudden surrounding of the remnants, to the ambush, to Sergei's death, to the end of the ambush, to the capture, then to the tension between Natalia and Pavel… it's too abrupt. Sorry.**

**Alex (Kaminski) hasn't flipped the fuck out on this kind of level before. It's kind of scary, actually. If you compare his kill on the sniper to the one he scored on the juggernaut some chapters ago, he's really snapped. He went from taking a hands-off approach (Battlefield C4 golf cart) to a very physical kind of way of handling it. Poor sniper was just doing her job, but she did end up killing the wrong person…**

**As you might know, the way this left off leads to the next level in canon. Karlstejn Castle might be familiar to you MW3 players.**

**I decided that because Pavel is getting closer to Natalia and more important to the story, I'd reveal some of his past. It's kind of a short bit, but he's really had it bad, too. There's a really good reason he connects with Natalia. If you couldn't tell, it's during the events of the first Modern Warfare, during the level Blackout (where Price, Soap, and Gaz rescue Nikolai.)**

**Poor Natalia got lucky again. She could have become victim to the really nasty things Makarov's terrorist syndicate does. Human trafficking is a huge portion of how he gets his funds.**

**So, Natpavelia just might be a thing. If you don't like it, then I dunno what to say. Because lemme tell you, it just might be the best thing ever. I've actually written a lot of personal fluffy one-shots between these two, so I already know the kind of relationship they'll have. **

**I named this chapter after yet another Versa thing, just because... I dunno why. This title is actually from "Past Praying For," which as I've said is the "theme song" and also the name of an earlier chapter. So yeah... uh, fun fact? I guess?**

**Anyway, I pulled an all-nighter [UPDATE: Make that two] to make this, guys. So have fun, hope you enjoyed, see you fools around~!**


	33. Shocking Truth

**Well, first things off, I'm actually kind of mad. I reposted the last chapter with edits and tried to improve it, yet none of you people seem to have cared about it. At all. Those who reviewed pre-removal, I can see the issue (you can only review once per chapter), but to the rest of you… what the hell? I really worked hard on advancing stuff that chap, especially with Kuznetsov's death and Natalia and Pavel's relationship, and… yeah, not much.**

**A big thank you to the random guest who was the first to review after 17 days of the revised chapter's release. I greatly appreciate it, and it's good to hear you've been here from the start.**

**Anger mode off. I had to lie down for a bit. Things have been pretty bad lately.**

**Here's your stupid update.**

* * *

James was pretty sure that he opened his eyes, despite the fact that he was still seeing pitch black. Feeling his eyelids to make sure he really was awake, he began to make out the faint outline of a lightbulb above himself. He reached up and pawed at it, his hand wrapping around the cord. He yanked down, a sudden burst of yellow light illuminating his surroundings.

A short groan came off from behind him, and he turned around, fists raised. There, he saw the sleeping figure of a woman in a flightsuit, one of the Russians who he got captured with.

"Whose genius idea was it to lock us in the same cell?" he whispered to himself, rolling his eyes.

He took some time to observe the environment. Damp, frigid, with a draft blowing in from one side. Strangely enough, everything was stone – the floor, walls, ceiling. It felt like a dungeon of sorts.

"What the fuck? Is this still 2016?"

He looked down at his feet and noticed his camouflaged pants. Yep, still the right time period. For a moment, he fantasized that he somehow ended up back in time or in some strange other world. He quickly came back to reality, suddenly realizing the gravity of the situation.

James was a prisoner of war. His own unit probably had no idea where he was, and they wouldn't have the resources to commit to rescuing him.

"Oh my god… I'll never see her again," he gasped, putting his hand over his mouth.

He stumbled backwards, slamming into the wall. He grabbed at his hair, feeling the anxiety overcome his body. He wouldn't get to tell the girl he loved that he was sorry for everything, that he didn't mean to hurt her the way he did. And he would never hear her laugh again, or look into those bright eyes when she smiled.

He needed to get out of there.

"Hey, wake up. Miss?" James said, shaking the Russian cautiously, trying to keep his voice low as not to alert any guards.

"Hm…? О Боже-!" Irina began to scream, but not before James forcefully pressed his hand over her mouth.

"Shh, shh," he hissed, looking around to make sure nobody heard. "Calm down. I'm on your side. Remember me?"

She nodded slowly, the fear slowly leaving her eyes, her grip around the Ranger's wrists weakening. James removed his hand, squeezing her shoulder as he investigated the cell.

"We've got to escape somehow," he continued, getting up and feeling around the lock on the door.

Irina sat up on the mattress, completely dumbfounded by everything. She didn't speak much English, so she had absolutely no idea what this American was trying to tell her. In fact, it looked like he was trying to pick the lock with his fingers. Was that something Americans were used to doing?

She felt around for a bobby pin in her hair, hoping that the guards didn't take it. Fortunately, it didn't seem like they searched hard enough. She tapped the American's shoulder, holding up the pin. But she heard footsteps echoing somewhere nearby, and the voice of another Russian.

"I think they're up. Let's go."

Irina grabbed the guy's shirt and pulled him over to the mattress, pushing him down onto it. Hopefully he'd get the cue and pretend he was sleeping, so they wouldn't catch him trying to break out right after waking up. Two guards strolled up to the cell, both seeming a bit tired even behind their three-hole balaclavas.

"Hm, you're awake, darling," one of them said, nudging the other in the arm. "Looks like your buddy there hasn't tried anything yet."

"You want to get out, don't you?" the other asked, taking out his keys and unlocking the door, which creaked open and slammed against the bars with a metallic clang. "Why don't you come with us, huh?"

Irina backed away, shaking her head. Her fist tightened around the bobby pin in her palm.

"Hey, what do you have there? Open your hand."

"I have a cut on my hand. There's nothing."

"I doubt it."

The first guard entered the cell, cornering Irina. He pinned her wrist to the wall, forcing open her hand. The bobby pin fell into his hand. The other also came in, seizing her neck and squeezing it tightly, angrily leaning close to her face.

"You fucking cunt. Did you think you were going to get that far without getting shot? We should just kill you on the spot right now!"

"N-No, I wasn't planning on doing anything with that! I swear!"

"Doesn't change anything. We should kill you…" the guard snarled, stepping back and inspecting her. "Actually, we might be willing to pretend this didn't happen. I like that idea, don't you? Hey, close that door and watch the American."

"What? No, I'm sure we can work something else out!"

The other soldier locked the cell and walked over to the other corner of the cell, hands in his belt as he looked at the Ranger lying on the mattress.

_These bastards. They're gonna do it, aren't they?_

Irina whimpered, nervously squeezing her fists and turning her head away as the guard zipped down her flight suit, exposing the T-shirt and underwear she was wearing underneath it.

"Hey, stop acting that way. You should be grateful that I'm being so nice. Now take off the suit."

She paused, reluctantly sliding it off her shoulders and letting it drop. It wasn't like she had any other choice. James opened an eye, suddenly seeing what was going on and confirming his suspicions. Like hell he was going to let that kind of shit go down if he could do anything about it.

He reached for the flight suit, his hand wrapping around it. He rolled over, seeing the other guard watching him. He tossed the garment into the guard's face, swinging himself up and throwing his body at him. The force of the tackle slammed the guard into the bars behind, his head knocking into a metal rod, then the stone floor. James took the loaded magazine out of the guard's gun, turning and throwing it at the other one, who was starting to take off the Russian woman's shirt. James then picked up the flight suit and wrapped it around the neck of the soldier pinned beneath him, tying the sleeves to the bars.

He unclipped the guard's AK from the sling, charging the bolt to eject the chambered round. He brought the stock across the other guard's face, knocking him to the side. James took a moment to push Irina back, before clubbing the guard again, knocking out a tooth along with some blood. After the man fell to the ground, James finished him by bringing the stock of the rifle straight onto his throat.

"Quick, snap his neck!" he urged, pointing at the soldier tied up to the bars and pantomiming the motion.

Irina quickly went over, taking the guard's head in her hands, shaking as she braced herself. Hesitant, she paused, unable to work up the courage to do it.

"Come on!" the American repeated.

She closed her eyes, turning away as she jerked all of her strength into her arms, twisting the man's head to the side with a sickening crunch. He immediately stopped struggling, his desperate kicking ceasing and his arms dropping to the ground.

Acquiring a handgun and a few mags from his victim, James approached Irina, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"It should be fine," he calmly whispered, guiding her over to the mattress and sitting her down. "Just breathe and don't think about it."

He searched the other guard's body, finding the keys along with a knife. Sighing, he kept the knife, sliding the gun and mags over to the Russian. No doubt she'd need them more. He saw the mag he threw moments ago, and it was dented. Wouldn't be any good in the rifle. Maybe throwing it was a bad idea, but it was too late to think about that.

"Are you ready?" James asked, holding up his thumb.

Irina took a moment to breathe, closing her eyes as she exhaled somewhat raggedly. She untied the flight suit from the dead body of the guard she killed, quickly slipping it on and stuffing the mags into her pockets. James jammed the key into the slot, knife at the ready.

He regretted not taking _SERE._

* * *

"Well now, looks like you two are getting friendly!" a guard boomed, walking in with his partner and seeing Pavel holding Natalia's hand.

He unlocked Natalia's cell, crossing his arms and tapping his foot.

"Out of the cell. Come with us."

Pavel gave Natalia's hand a reassuring squeeze before releasing her. She stood up and approached the guard, who quickly seized her. He slammed her against the wall, sending pain shooting through her broken rib. She cried out, gritting her teeth, a tear or two escaping her eyes.

"You bastard!" Pavel snapped.

The other guard entered the cell and threw Pavel's head into the bars, staggering him and nearly knocking him out. He regained his balance, stumbling out of the cell into the wall. The guards slipped hoods onto their heads, guiding them through the compound.

When the hoods were removed, Natalia and Pavel were faced with the sight of what appeared to be a dungeon. It was quite clear that it was ancient, with wall shackles and the like. However, a few obviously updated torture devices were in place, the most significant being the bed frames up against the wall, car batteries on the floor nearby.

They strapped Pavel onto the bed frame, tightening the belts around his wrists and ankles forcefully. Natalia was cuffed into a chair across from him.

"What the hell do you people want? I thought you were just gonna kill us!" Pavel spat.

"See, you have valuable information. Who's standing in Makarov's way. We're not going to torture you for no reason," the guard replied.

He turned to Natalia.

"Anything to say?"

Silence.

"Hit it."

The other soldier clamped the jumper cables onto the bed frame, sending the current through Pavel's body. He screamed, thrashing violently as he felt pain coursing through every part of him, letting out a stream of obscenities.

"PAVEL! YOU FUCKS! STOP IT! PLEASE!" Natalia pleaded.

The guards detached the cables and looked back at Natalia.

"Care to talk now?"

Pavel had quickly regained his composure and kept eyes locked on Natalia.

"I…"

"Don't," he said, voice unwavering.

"…"

They hooked him up again, laughing as he once again was shocked brutally, his fists tightening as he struggled against the electricity. But the second they stopped, he promptly came back, showing little evidence of fatigue.

"Whatever you do, Natalia, don't talk… this isn't the worst thing I've had to do. My second year in the civil war… they did this to me, naked."

"We're getting nothing," the guard scoffed, suddenly remembering the other prisoner. "Wait, I got it!"

They released Pavel, and he collapsed onto the floor, getting up carefully, shaking. Just because he survived didn't mean he wasn't affected. Then, Natalia had her handcuffs taken off, and she quickly rushed over to Pavel. But before she could touch him, they yanked her away and proceeded to attach her to the bed frame. She whimpered, feeling the pain in her torso as a belt tightened across it.

"No… you cunts. Don't you dare!"

"Anything?"

"Fuck off!"

"Kick it."

Natalia screamed at the top of her lungs, her eyes squeezing shut as she slammed her head against the bed frame repeatedly. Her rib hurt even worse as she involuntarily shook around and hyperventilated, trying her hardest not to succumb to the current. Pavel couldn't stand seeing her like this. He couldn't stand hearing her desperate, pained voice. He wanted to take her place again and do it all day, if it meant never having to hear her pain.

As quickly as it started, it was over and the cables were detached. Natalia hung her head, crying, sobbing as she tried her best to recover. But she wasn't like Pavel, she wasn't as strong as he was.

"NATALIA!" Pavel yelled. "I'm… I'm so sorry. Please, forgive me."

"P-Pav… Pavel. It's… f-fine. I'll do this. For…" Natalia weakly gasped, raising her head to look at him.

She sighed, her head dropping once again as she struggled to keep it up. If she could hold on long enough, he'd have enough time to recover. She wanted to be strong for him and show him that he didn't have to suffer for her.

She just wished she could tell him.

"Come on… br-… bring it, you asses!"

"Ha! Fair enough!"

They cranked it up again, Natalia grinding her teeth. This was the most painful thing she'd ever experienced, something to rival the pain of the ice-cold water filling her lungs years back, the desperate thirst for just a bit more oxygen, the wish to breathe just one more time. Now, it was about cherishing every second spent without her body being completely electrified, despite the fact she was hanging from a metal frame, her rib broken and further in pain from the shaking.

Then, there was a sudden, dull thud from somewhere in the compound. The two guards were momentarily distracted, looking at one another before their radios crackled.

"Damn. Copy that, we'll meet up at the kitchen and go from there, over."

They left the two prisoners behind, still restrained.

"Stay with me. Come on. Stay with me. You can make it. Don't let yourself go just yet."

"I… d-don't… I… tired," Natalia mumbled, unable to string together a whole sentence.

She felt so pathetic. She was supposed to be part of a Spetsnaz team, somebody who was supposed to accept personal sacrifice for the sake of the mission. The fate of the world rested on her and the team, and it all fell apart. She made it so far, only to spend what she hoped were her last hours hanging on a frame, not even able to breathe because of the severe pain in her ribcage. She should have died back in Washington DC.

_No… even further back. I should have died the second I landed in Virginia._

Slowly, her vision began to fade out, her eyelids quivering as she tried to stay awake. She didn't have any reason not to let go. What hope was there anymore? She and Pavel were probably the only people left opposing Makarov. Nobody would be coming for them.

_Why was I even chosen for this group? Why didn't they pick GRU people? Instead of a bunch of stupid mediocre VDV soldiers?_

She wondered whose idea it was. Things probably would have gone better. Kuznetsov wouldn't have died, the mission would have succeeded, and maybe the helicopter crew might have survived.

_Idiot. I thought I would actually be able to change something. I thought I actually had a reason to fight._

_Pitiful._

_Just so pitiful._

_What a failure…_

She realized that her eyes were completely closed. She couldn't force them open. She just wanted to go to sleep.

_I don't think I'm waking up this time. _

She prepared for the moment she had been awaiting for so long. Maybe it was finally her time.

_I'm sorry._

* * *

"Hey. Natalia."

_No. I can't let go yet._

She felt a sudden burst of energy, and she opened her eyes. Her fists tightened, and she raised her head to look at the source of the voice. She didn't know what it was about it that ended up giving her that final boost, but she felt like she had just a little more time to hear it.

"I never told you why I chose you for the team. Did I?" Pavel said.

Natalia shook her head.

"I suppose you should know," Pavel sighed. "You're probably the best English speaker I've encountered. In fact, when we arrived at the makeshift prison we found you in a while back, they told us that you would probably be an excellent asset at feeding false intel to the Americans. When I found out that we'd be working with 141, I knew we needed a good translator. The fact that you're comms makes it much easier to work with the English speakers.

"Of course, I had psych profiles assembled for all the candidates I saw. I didn't want anyone particularly loyal to the Ultranationalist cause, nor did I want anyone who agreed with the official orders. Notice how you were all draftees. None of you enlisted on your own accord. All of you were subjected to some form of trauma. Nobody would question the disappearance of an unstable soldier over a role model.

"We needed people who would be low-profile. There's a reason they chose me, a Sergeant, to lead this op. They didn't want to send anybody of importance. On paper, we're all technically rogue. All of us were under suspicion. That's why it was us. It wouldn't be as hard to believe that we were doing all of this."

Pavel looked around the room and paused, quietly sighing again.

"Looks like Makarov was ahead of us anyway. I just want to apologize… for dragging you into this. I know you've been hurt even more along the way. And you don't know how guilty I feel about it."

"It's fine."

Pavel looked back at Natalia, who was staring straight at him.

She was smiling. Albeit a sad, bittersweet smile. Still, she was smiling.

"I never thought I was worth much. I thought I was just another worthless soldier they'd throw at the enemy. At least I can die knowing that I wasn't."

Suddenly Pavel raised his voice, booming sternly.

"You're not dying here. I won't let it happen."

Natalia looked back at the ground, her smile fading away.

"Face it. Neither of us are in any position to do anything at all. We're both helpless."

"Still," Pavel replied. "I wouldn't give two shits if I were chained to a tree, my dick chopped off, and a goddamn metal pole shoved up my ass. I won't let you die. They can shoot me, drown me, burn me, chop me up into tiny little pieces. I won't let you die."

A short silence, a lack of response.

"All right," Natalia mumbled. "And what if… I _want_ to die?"

"Please don't. You still have a chance. You're still redeemable. I promise, one day. You'll find happiness again. It's not too late. I- well, I can't say the same for myself."

And Pavel turned away, trying his hardest to shake off the memories forcing their way into his head. He couldn't show Natalia that he too was broken. She needed somebody to be there for her to rely on.

"You've never had anybody to talk about it with, have you?" Natalia suddenly asked, almost seeing right through him.

"How… how do you know?"

"Because I'm the same way."

Pavel gasped. At that moment, he felt so horrible. Those words really hurt him to hear, for some reason. He felt like nobody deserved to ever feel that way. Especially not someone like her. He could tell that she was already going through a lot pre-war.

"And," Natalia continued. "I can't hide it nearly as well as you do. You see what I've been reduced to."

"You didn't deserve any of it."

"What makes you say that?"

Pavel found himself at a loss for words. What exactly _did_ make him say that?

"Because I know you. We've been working together for a while now. We all have our share of sins we've done. Of course. But… I know you have a good heart, Natalia. The war's beaten nearly all of it out of you, but I can still see it. Beneath it all, you're such a sweet person. And in this world, that's something really rare, something I haven't seen for a long time. That's why I say you didn't deserve any of it."

Natalia swallowed. She felt her heart speeding up as the warmth in her cheeks began to burn hotter. Her lips quivered. She looked up at Pavel for just a moment, but instantly averted her eyes, completely unable to face him.

"Th-Thank you," she stammered. "N-Nobody's ever said anything that n-nice… to… me."

_Pavel, please stop being so kind to me. I don't think I can take it. This is the last thing I need right now. _

"You just proved me right," Pavel smirked.

He took another look around the room, trying to find some kind of way to break his restraints.

"You know, I just realized this is such a bad time to be having this conversation," he muttered, spotting a key placed on a table across the room and looking back at Natalia. "Damn. I can't get to that thing."

He heard footsteps behind himself, and saw Natalia's eyes focused on something back there.

"Well, I don't think you have to worry about that anymore," came a voice, accompanied by the sudden release of Pavel's handcuffs.

There was a metallic rattle from the floor. Pavel turned in his chair to find Irina and the American standing before him.

"Thanks to him, we got out," Irina said, pointing at James.

Pavel noticed the Ranger's knife completely covered in crimson, even running down onto the handle and staining his hands. There was a look in his eye that just said that this guy wasn't someone to be fucked with at all.

"We ready to move?" James asked, unslinging an AK from his back and handing it to Pavel.

"I don't know what he's saying, but we didn't hit as much resistance as we thought," Irina explained as Pavel accepted the rifle and promptly began to undo the belts around Natalia's wrists and ankles. "Something's going on outside, and the guards all went to investigate."

Freed from the bedframe, Natalia quickly collapsed, Pavel catching her right before she hit the floor. She moaned, her hand moving to her broken rib.

"Shit, she can't walk," Pavel realized. "Give this thing back to the American, I'll have to carry her."

James took back the AK and nodded as Pavel picked up the female soldier.

"Ha, you two look good together, not gonna lie," James chuckled. "Let's get going."

Natalia felt herself slowly dipping back into unconsciousness as they moved out. It was for the better anyway, because she wouldn't have to be in pain the whole time. She realized that for once she was really lucky to have the chance to escape.

And for some reason, she felt safe in Pavel's arms.

* * *

**Damn. Short chapter, I know. It's just that I started this one a bit late, due to my aforementioned distress with the lack of response to the last one.**

**Anyway, yeah. I really didn't want to be upset about it. I mean, I'm grateful for how far this has come from its roots. But the thing is, my life has actually hit a really bad decline as of recent (a certain reader of mine knows exactly what I refer to) and the thing is that this fanfiction is actually the only source of fulfillment in my life right now. If anything, it's my fault for expecting so much.**

**So, yeah. From the focus on Natalia's arc, this fic's taken kind of a turn from its usual, more fun and chaotic nature. I guess it was bound to happen, because Natalia's arc is inherently sad and heartbreaking.**

**As you all can tell by now, Natpavelia is seriously going to be a thing. It's just that poor Nat's been through so much, and been punished so much in the story, that it just seems right for her to have something (someone) to care about. Right? Plus, how the hell can you resist it!? They're so goddamn cute together than not even I can take it! This is exactly why Natalia's considered best girl of this fic.**

**Don't worry, guys. Jenna and her fuckery will be returning next chapter. It's stepping up, and since I'm finally returning to the plot, we'll get to see both the levels Stronghold and Scorched Earth rolled into one. But yeah, we haven't actually seen her since Chapter 27 or so. I would feel bad for neglecting her but I don't, because I still believe Natalia completely deserved the attention I've given for the past few chapters.**

**I can't wait to hear how you guy's think this arc's progressed. Sure, everything's happened really rapidly, but I guess that's war for ya. Shit goes down really fast.**

**Yes. The title is a pun. Fight me. Especially you, Z. The rest of you who get it are filthy weeaboos and will also join me in shitty 13-episode dubbed anime hell.**

**So now that relevant stuff's out of the way, it's time for unimportant rambling.**

**OH MY DEAR MOTHER DANGO. YOU GUYS SERIOUSLY NEED TO GO SEE **_**HARDCORE HENRY**_**. IT WAS INCREDIBLE.**

**I know lots of you will like it. It's entirely in first person, something all CoD players will certainly be familiar with. Fucking amazing. If you're prone to motion sickness, sit in the back instead of the front row of the theater, which is the splash zone. Don't worry, the movie eases you into it.**

**It's a gory fun-fest, with some pretty sexy stuff thrown in, topped off with a lot of fun stuff in general. The entire thing takes place in Russia, and it's really cheeki breeki, especially because it's Russian-made and thus quite authentic. I like to think that what you see in the movie is a pretty accurate representation of how Natalia views the world in killing-mode.**

**It's great. Perfect 5/7. Go watch it. Really.**

**So, that ends this A/N (and this chapter.) Once again, I wanna hear how you guys think about this arc now that it's winding down. It's so weird… we're getting close to Down the Rabbit Hole. Doesn't completely mean it's ending so soon. Don't worry.**

**-DEFCON-0**


	34. Sex on the First Date

**Before I begin, something really important has happened. One of my good friends Ben was awesome enough to do some art based on RLW's main ladies! He's really good actually, so check it out at benspictures . deviantart art/RANGERS-LEAD-THE-WAY-616655182 (delete spaces between the dots, obviously)**

**Or you can check my profile for the link. Seriously, it's awesome.**

**Check out his other art, because he's real talented but needs recognition. Yes I am shamelessly advertising a friend on my fic.**

**Yes. I know. I'm late. Surprise. But after many painful 3AM writing sessions, it's here. 3 months late. I'M SO SORRY PLEASE DON'T HURT ME!**

**Finals were kicking my butt, you know how it is. But now that summer is in full swing, it's definitely time to push out this update.**

**I forgot to mention, we've broken 20,000 views! Thanks guys!**

**I threw up a random poll on my profile to mix it up, check it out. This time I'm just asking what gender I come across to be as the writer, factoring in my style, tendencies, and strange taste in protagonists. It's also there to see how many sarcastic assholes read this story.**

**Anyway, I'm finally coming back to something I've actually neglected for a total of 5 chapters: Jenna and her role in the story. I know, it's scary. **

**After all the dark stuff that we've dealt with in the past few chapters, it's time for a bit more lighthearted fun fun junk.**

* * *

"Three-day pass? No way. Mind saying that again for me, Boss?"

"Three. Day. Pass. After the past few days, we've definitely earned it. Three days of fun in Paris, Frost, just think about that."

As Sandman was taking a sip of coffee from his mug, Truck shuffled in, rubbing his eyes.

"So, the usual? Get hammered first night. Then what do we do for the next two days? We never get the whole three days, man…" Truck said.

Grinch walked in immediately after Truck, adding, "Screwing around, y'know? Civvie stuff. You know, I heard these French chicks are pretty grateful we showed up. Heh?"

"Man, only thing ever on your mind is pussy," Frost muttered.

"Dude, shut the fuck up," Grinch shot. "Besides, ain't you planning on taking Hook out? It's the _city of love._ Don't wanna let her down."

"As if! Why would I even be remotely interested in that?" Frost snapped indignantly.

"Ha, first off, somebody's gotta babysit her," Grinch smirked. "You know what happened last time we let the idiot alone, she got her ass kidnapped. And, uh, well… I actually kinda feel bad for her. She's been seeming really out of it lately. But I see the way she looks at you sometimes. She needs you."

Grinch became surprisingly serious, something extremely rare for him. If Grinch was picking up on something like that, he had to be right.

"Just help her take her mind off of the stuff she's seen," Sandman said. "As good as she is at what she does, I can tell that if she's overloaded she'll shut down."

"…fine," Frost sighed. "I guess she hasn't had time to act like a girl in forever, huh?"

"So, it's set," Sandman declared. "Boys, get your shit together, we'll catch the next transport headed out to Paris. Bring civvies, because I don't wanna see your asses wearing uniforms the whole time. Low-profile, dig?"

"Speaking of that," Frost said as Grinch and Truck took their leave. "Uh, where is Hook?"

"She's probably hanging at the range," Sandman replied. "She's really been working hard for a while."

Frost nodded and headed out to tell Jenna the news. As he walked down the road, joining the commute of soldiers throughout he makeshift base, he thought about what Grinch had said. Hook really wasn't doing well ever since the incident with her Ranger friend. She did a decent job of hiding it, but it was certain that she was devastated. Something about her nature was different. She was generally lazy and apathetic, but she possessed a more energetic personality in the field. That seemed to be completely gone, but compared to her first mission with the team, at least she was performing better.

As he fished for the pack of cigarettes in his pocket, Frost's thoughts immediately shifted from Jenna's emotions to her performance. No doubt she picked up on the way Delta operated. She actually did so surprisingly quickly. Sandman was right – she had been working hard and constantly trying to improve ever since Bradford got on her ass about it. She didn't seem to realize it, but she was actually an incredibly rapid learner. She never actually went through selection, but there was no doubt that she'd at least pass. She wasn't the strongest, but she was fit and could still bear the weight. As far as training went, she had more experience than newly-operational Delta recruits. She might not have been strictly trained in proper operational routine, but she made up for it with raw fighting prowess.

Frost arrived at the base's range, realizing that he spent the whole trip without lighting his cigarette at all. He looked at the cigarette in his hand, shaking his head as he slid it back into the pack. He knew he'd have to quit eventually, but the nature of his job already cut down his lifespan considerably.

"Yo, Hook," he said, approaching her.

She seemed to be practicing a tactical transition drill. One round in the rifle's mag. Primary dry, her non-dominant hand guided it down while her firing hand instinctively went to the sidearm in her holster. Then, the non-firing hand met the pistol, forming a proper grip. She pushed the pistol straight forward, elbows going inwards. She snapped off her second shot, a metallic ping registering her hit on the target.

"Nicely done," Frost commented, watching as Jenna spot-checked the chamber on her handgun, put it on safety, and holstered it. "416? How come?"

"Oh, um," Jenna said, caught off guard by Frost's sudden presence. "HK416 is supposed to be standard, isn't it? Better than the M4A1. Why don't you guys use it on ops? You guys rolled it when I was back in Afghanistan."

"Yeah, shrinking budget couldn't keep up with maintaining them. On the other hand, there's a million M4s floating around. That war against Al-Asad really didn't do us any favors."

"S-So, what's going on?" Jenna asked.

"After busting our asses, we got three-day leave."

"Wow… three-day leave…?"

Frost was a bit confused by her reaction. It wasn't nearly as happy as he anticipated. In fact, she seemed lost in thought for a moment, before turning visibly sad.

"Ah, it's nothing. Just my old company when I was just a grunt, we weren't particularly the best. We were sort of a misfit unit with all the delinquents and idiots and all of that. A 'bad company' if you will."

Jenna found herself remembering those days, a boring existence spent waiting for the day she'd finally catch the round with her name written on it, the day her suffering would have to end. The day she'd leave Brooke behind, all alone in the cruel fucking world.

It was funny how far Jenna had come since then. And that… well, that Brooke was the one to pass first.

"S-Sorry. I just remembered some stuff. That's it."

_Damn, Grinch was right, _Frost thought. _She really is out of it._

"So," he began. "Paris. How does that sound? Three nights."

"With the guys?" Jenna asked.

"Err… not completely. I, uh…" Frost hesitated. "I'm gonna bring you."

"Huh?"

Jenna saw Frost turning away, scratching the back of his head before wiping his nose.

"Yeah. We'll, uh, hang out, I guess. Get to know each other a bit better. Get our minds off the war. Sound good?"

"S-Sure. That sounds… great," Jenna accepted, equally as awkward in her speech. "Fun. It should be fun."

"Awesome. Here, I'll walk you back to the barracks. Gotta get your shit together."

* * *

"I'm honestly glad as fuck we got rid of McCoy. Not only was he constantly out to get in my pants, he didn't police his brass and he ratfucked his goddamn MREs," Jenna sighed, leaning back in her seat, her feet propped up on a suitcase half her size.

"Come on, he wasn't… the worst," Truck said, trying his best not to be rude. "Besides, you did come up with some pretty sweet recipes using the stuff he tossed."

"Hook, you know, even though he's a dick, he's a dick for a reason," Frost explained, punching Grinch in the arm. "Kinda like Grinch. Grinch is a dick because you are what you eat, after all."

"Fuck off."

Sandman shook his head and returned to his futile attempts to read a French newspaper. Jenna just didn't have the heart to tell him that he was holding it upside down.

"No, but really," Frost continued. "They plucked him out of an SOF unit too. He was Special Forces, not Rangers, though. 3rd SFG. They had some shitty leadership going, no accountability. Read his psych profile, though. Seems like back at the beginning of the invasion, he was really high-performance. What he didn't have in physical accountability, made up for with sheer willpower. Kind of like a less-dumbshit version of you, Hook."

"Frosty, come on! Why did you have to add that last part…?" Jenna pouted, puffing her cheek.

"Actually, I read a mission report of the last op before he went bad…"

* * *

_August 30, 2016_

_Sgt. Marshall "McCoy" Collins_

_3__rd__ Special Forces Group_

_Los Angeles, California, USA_

McCoy could hear the engines roaring behind him as he rounded a corner and headed into an alleyway. He glanced down at a piece of paper in his hand before shoving it into his pocket. He tossed his backpack on the ground and fished through it frantically, hearing the trucks get closer. He pulled out a Claymore mine and quickly set it at the end of the corridor, swinging the backpack onto his back again and running.

He stopped at the foot of a ladder, waiting for the thumping of boots on the ground to get closer and activate the mine's tripwire. The explosive went off exactly as planned, throwing metal ball bearings into the enemy soldiers' legs and tearing straight through them. McCoy quickly ascended the ladder to escape the angry voices trying to seek him.

"Shit, shit, shit," he muttered to himself, running a distance across the rooftop and getting prone.

He peered through the EoTech holographic sight on his SOPMOD Block II M4A1, sighting in the enemy soldiers in their foreign gray-blue-white camouflage uniforms. Firing off a few bursts, he dispatched about a third of them before they began to fire back.

"Shǒuliúdàn!" a soldier cried moments before a stick grenade tumbled onto the roof.

"Fuck off, Kim!" McCoy yelled, grabbing it and dropping it back over the side of the building.

"Tā mā de!" the soldier panicked, realizing his little present ended up right back at his feet again.

McCoy saw his attempt to jump on it, but the explosive detonated before he could make it, killing two other soldiers and throwing the grenadier's shrapnel-riddled corpse into another enemy. McCoy took this opportunity to light up a few more hostiles before flicking out his mag and jumping onto another rooftop.

"Damn, come on, just keep going!" he told himself, knowing that if he stopped, a bunch of angry Chinese soldiers would be poking their stupid bullpup Type 95s up his ass.

He witnessed a machinegunner attempting to set up in the window of a building nearby. He instinctively pulled out an M67 frag, yanking the pin, releasing the spoon, and chucking it without slowing at all. The metallic sphere bonked the soldier in the face, knocking him backwards before landing in his lap.

McCoy couldn't help but laugh, hearing the explosion go off after about a second of panicked gibberish.

He ran down a nearby fire escape, getting back to ground level and entering a vacant building. Quickly, he reached into his backpack again and got out a few premade C4 charges, which he then set onto the pillars on the end of the building the enemies were coming from. He left through a door on the other side, activating his clapper and detonating the explosives. The final few pursuers either were killed by the blast or crushed by the debris crumbling onto their bodies.

"That's the shit," he coughed, sitting down to catch his breath. "No better way to shake a tail."

He looked up, and across the street was a library. Conveniently, he managed to find his destination. It seemed completely derelict, a whole section of a large window wall smashed. A sandbag barrier took its place, giving off the appearance of an abandoned fighting position. Clearly, it was booby-trapped for the first idiot to set foot in it.

He approached the front doors, feeling a presence. There wasn't mistaking the feeling of guns trained on him, knowing that there were fingers on triggers ready to pepper his body with bullets at a moment's notice. He checked the piece of paper again and read the phrase scribbled on it.

"_Roof Koreans,_" he announced loudly.

Nothing happened. He felt like a total idiot.

"Hurry the fuck up," a sudden voice said over the library's PA, which was located inside the building. "And stand down, guys!"

The doors automatically slid open for him, and he entered. He found a couple of people wearing street attire, wielding a variety of guns and looking him up and down.

"Heard the gunfire while you were on the way here," a man wearing a bandana and an NRA cap said. "Nearly led the bastards to us."

"Don't worry about it," another guy in a hoodie and a shemagh said. "PLA's rolled down the street right in front of us without giving a second thought."

"Anyone else ever wonder what the hell the Chinese are doing here?"

"Russia came to have fun, China wanted a slice of the pie too. I heard New York's finally been cleaned up, DC's rebuilding already, and look at us."

The apparent leader shushed the other people, and turned towards McCoy.

"So, what brings you here?"

"We got your request for assistance regarding an operation you're planning," McCoy replied. "I'm your link to the military for support. We've set up a weapons and ammo cache, tossed in some really nice toys for you guys to use. Obviously we couldn't deliver it here, but you probably won't have to fight your way to it."

"Fantastic. Go talk to our planner over there, point out the location on our map for her. Many thanks."

McCoy walked in the direction he was pointed to, not completely sure who the guy was referring to. He passed a particularly shifty-looking person leaning up against a bookshelf, a man who just stared at him the whole time he passed. Something about him struck McCoy as being fellow military. Something about the way he stood, or maybe the look of suspicion on his face. Evaluating his surroundings constantly, looking for threats. If anything, this guy was certainly useful to the resistance.

After a few steps, something still seemed off to McCoy. He glanced behind himself, only to find that the mysterious man had disappeared. McCoy didn't even hear footsteps or anything of the like.

Shrugging it off, he sighted the planner he'd been referred to sitting behind the check-out counter. Ironically, she seemed like a librarian type, glasses and all. She was studiously investigating a few reports that scouts brought back for any useful intel. Definitely not a combat person at all.

"Hey, I'm from the US Army. Your boss told me to point out a location of a weapons cache my boys set up for you," McCoy said.

"H-Huh? Oh, sorry, yeah. We didn't really expect you to come," the planner replied, jumping back in her chair.

She looked up at McCoy, revealing hazel eyes previously concealed by her dark bangs. Nodding, she stood up from her chair and led him over to a board with a large map of the immediate area pinned up on it. She waved over to it and stood behind him when he stepped closer.

"Don't talk much, do you…?" McCoy smirked, his eyes scanning the map. "Got a marker?"

Out of the corner of his vision, the blurred outline of a Sharpie. Lady was definitely quick with things.

Tucking his carbine under his arm and holding it with his left hand, McCoy held the cap of the marker in his mouth. He circled the location of the cache and turned back.

The planner looked somewhat irritated, staring right at McCoy. He was confused as to what he did wrong before she reached towards him and plucked the cap out of his mouth. She wiped it on her shirt, took the marker, replaced the cap, and stuck it into her shirt pocket. McCoy spotted a name tag pinned above it. Her name was apparently Catherine.

She suddenly crossed her arms, covering the tag. McCoy looked back up and found her frowning at him. He hadn't quite realized it sort of looked like he was staring at her chest. She coldly walked past him and approached the board, pushing her glasses up as she began to plan out a possible route to the cache.

McCoy scoffed and walked away, looking back over his shoulder. He snickered, seeing her unconsciously stick the marker's cap in her mouth.

* * *

"Hey, we're here. Get the fuck off my truck," announced the driver, a regular Army Corporal in his digital ACUs.

Frost elbowed Jenna awake. She'd fallen asleep at some point during Frost's somewhat monotone explanation of what he had read on McCoy.

"Good luck, loverboy," Grinch whispered in Frost's ear, grinning.

"Fuckity-fuck off."

Frost took Jenna's hand and helped her off the M35 truck, making sure she didn't faceplant jumping off the back. And Grinch just stood there with his shit-eating mug, Sandman also trying to resist the urge to crack a smile himself.

"Well, Frost, we're actually gonna split off already. Need to beat the rush of the regular guys hitting the bars," Sandman said.

"What? We're not heading out together?" Jenna questioned.

"Uh, how should I explain…?" Truck began. "Frost's got some… special plans for you. You go run along and have some fun."

Jenna watched them walk off, the transport also departing. Frost nudged her along, and she hesitantly followed, turning around and watching the other three soldiers disappear. She felt herself blush a little bit, walking alone with Frost like this.

"So, where are we going?" she asked, watching him nonchalantly stick a cigarette in his mouth.

"Well, a buddy of mine in the GIGN recommended this really nice hotel. He's planning on meeting up, too. He's actually pretty excited to meet the first female addition to our team."

_Wait. Does this mean he… he's talked about me before? What kinds of things does he say about me?_

Her heart sank a little bit upon a small realization.

_Probably tells them how much I suck…_

"Hey, dumb shit," Frost said, putting his hand on her shoulder. "What's with the face? Come on, we got three days to fuck around in _Paris!_ Whatever's botherin' you, just drop it. I know you like to have fun."

They walked together in silence, sticking out among the civilians in their Multicam combat uniforms. It had admittedly been a while since Jenna wore the standard-issue uniform, especially after exclusively wearing the high-speed Crye gear the team donned on ops.

The two soon arrived at the hotel, a really high-end looking place. Absolutely unscathed by the attacks and battle that had been raging for a little while, although that entire area of the city remained untouched. Upon entering the doors, they encountered two people who promptly approached them.

"Rook! Didn't expect you to be here so soon!" Frost greeted, shaking the hand of a green-eyed man. "Thought GIGN was still on cleanup."

"Ah, Westbrook. You're looking better than ever. Uh… did you happen to get taller by any chance, though?" Rook replied. "And not my team. We've had our fill, honestly."

Jenna observed that the Frenchman spoke excellent English, without a noticeable accent. He was accompanied by a shorter, blue-eyed woman, roughly Jenna's height.

"And who's that? Can't say we've met," Frost continued.

"Oh, that's Emman-, er, Twitch," Rook answered.

"Ha, Twitch. Didn't recognize you without the mask. I still remember when you slapped me for calling it a BDSM gimp-" Frost snickered, suddenly noticing that the two were holding hands. "Whoa now, don't tell me-?"

Rook's face turned red, and he stepped away, turning his head to the side while Twitch smiled.

"Yes. Julien's kind of a softie beneath all the armor he wears," she giggled, also seeming to speak completely without an accent. "Is it safe to assume you and your own partner are also together?"

"Ah-!" Jenna and Frost exclaimed together in unison, glancing at each other.

"W-Well, I wouldn't mind…" Jenna began, Frost suddenly elbowing her.

"Haha, nope. Completely professional relationship here."

Twitch smirked.

"Sure thing, Westbrook. About as professional as that one German GSG-9 operator who wore jeans to our counterterrorism exercise. What was her name? _Smart?_"

"So, this is Moore? Huh. Expected her to be a lot… taller," Rook said.

_And what exactly do you mean by that…?_ Jenna thought, glaring at him.

"All the better. Enemy wouldn't expect her to be as strong as I've been told," Rook grinned. "You're quite famous, Moore. They say you captured Volk. He's been under our noses for a while now…"

Jenna shuffled back and forth on her feet, staring at the ground. Did Frost really tell people stuff like that? She expected some kind of comment on how incompetent she'd been, but instead she got compliments.

"Enough with this, we really shouldn't be here right now," Rook admitted. "To be completely honest, we should be helping out our comrades with the cleanup. Even if we're off duty. Anyway, hope you enjoy the stay! This place is excellent!"

At that, the two walked off. Jenna awkwardly rubbed her nose while Frost scratched the back of his head. They both stood in silence, completely having forgotten what they came for.

"Th-That was weird," Jenna said. "You make weird friends. I didn't understand a single thing you guys were discussing at all."

"Don't worry about it," Frost replied, looking over Jenna's shoulder and eyeing a surveillance camera on the ceiling. "Just act like nothing happened."

They arrived at the reception desk, greeted by a heavily-accented clerk. Frost handed over his military ID, a passport, and what appeared to be the team's recreational credit card.

"Why does it have a picture of a burning egg on it?" Jenna asked.

"Grinch was the one who opened the account…" Frost muttered.

"Ah, yes. Room for two?" the receptionist confirmed, sliding over the keycards.

Frost nodded, taking the envelope and pulling Jenna along.

_Room for two? No separate rooms. Oh God, we're going to be behind closed doors… alone… together…_

"Dumb shit, I can already tell what you're thinking," Frost sighed. "Should be fine. I think I requested separate beds."

After a short elevator ride, they located the room, and after multiple failed keyswipes, the door finally unlocked. The two stepped inside, flicking on the lights, only to find…

"Crap. Maybe I forgot to mention that in the reservation."

They threw their suitcases in the corner of the room, pulling open the curtains to find that the sun was already setting. The ride from the base must have been much longer than they thought. After inspecting the room and trying to figure out how the weird second toilet in the floor was supposed to work, they once again looked at the single bed nervously.

"This is as oddly cliché as it gets…" Frost sighed. "Well, looks like we have no choice."

_Is he going to…?_

"I'll just sleep on the floor.

_Damn it!_

However, after some thought, Frost looked back at Jenna, placing his hand on the back of his head. He stepped over to her, almost as if to inspect her more.

"Then again, I don't think I have a problem with sharing the bed at all," he smiled slyly.

Jenna gaped at him wide-eyed, gritting her teeth and quickly averting her gaze to the ground. He knew that his words would make her all flustered, and it made her a little bit angry. God, what a jerk.

"Hm? What's the problem?" Frost continued, noticing her obvious reaction and placing his hand on her head. "There's no need to worry. I'll be right next to you."

Jenna whimpered extremely quietly, her hand suddenly coming up and grabbing her elbow. She began to shake, trying to resist the urge to smile. Frost thought that maybe that was enough.

"I'm just kidding, you dumb shit!" he chuckled, punching her in the arm. "Here, we'll order more pillows and line them down the middle of the bed if it bothers you _that_ much."

"Man, don't joke around like that!" Jenna snapped. "Sometimes you need to think about what you're saying…"

_Well, give me a cliché situation like this, of course I'm gonna take advantage of it, _Frost mused. _Come to think of it… weird shit like this happens to us a lot, doesn't it?_

"Here, go change out of the uniform and get ready for bed. I'm really fuckin' tired."

"Sure thing, Frost!"

"Please," Frost suddenly interjected, craning his neck, his eyes flickering towards Jenna's. "I have a name. While we're out here, I don't mind you calling me Derek… _Jenna._"

When he spoke those words, Jenna was already a foot into the bathroom. She quickly slammed the door behind herself and slid down it, rubbing her cheek and fanning herself with her shirt.

_Fuck… it's hot. Guess I really do still like him…_

She leaned over the sink, staring at herself in the mirror. Something struck her as particularly off, and she wasn't sure what.

She suddenly stepped back in horror, raising an arm defensively. She looked a lot different than she remembered. Jenna never particularly paid any attention to her appearance at all, but choosing to do so revealed how much she'd changed.

"Since when did my hair get this long?" she said to herself, twisting its ends and cocking her head. "And why do I look so _tired?_"

Jenna then came to focus on her hand, which was almost reflexively forming a grip around an invisible gun. The weirdest part, however, was looking into her own eyes. She was definitely still Jenna, but she felt like the figure in the mirror was a totally different person.

Right.

Jenna turned on the water and splashed some on her face, trying to remember how exactly things became this way. She always had that nonchalant, irritated air back in her Afghanistan days, but the new look in her eyes was new. It was as if the light in her eyes was snuffed out, almost completely extinguished by everything after the invasion of the US.

_I've really changed, haven't I? _she realized, trying her hardest to recall the last time she legitimately laughed over something.

She shrugged it off, changing into her usual PT shorts and issue T-shirt, and shuffling into the room barefoot. Derek quickly exchanged places with her, entering the bathroom with a yawn. He was out in what seemed like an instant, wearing a pair of plain black sweatpants and a tank top. Jenna half-expected him to be the type to sleep shirtless (like most soldiers she knew did), so she was slightly surprised.

As he passed by her, she caught glimpse of his well-formed arm muscles, along with his slim physique. She already knew that he wasn't exactly a stocky guy compared to his teammates, but his form-fitting top really showed off his body type more than she'd ever seen. It was strange to see a type like him, more toned than built.

_Wow, Jenna. You're being kind of a pervert. Staring at him like that._

She quickly turned onto her side when she felt him climb onto the bed, curling up a little bit. She remembered that they were supposed to ask for more pillows, but totally forgot to. Not only that, but they also skipped dinner.

Jenna reluctantly rolled over to face Frost, but found him already completely asleep. Not only that, he was ridiculously quiet. The only way she could even tell that he was sleeping was the way his chest gently rose and fell at a natural pace.

Admittedly, she was quite relieved. Falling asleep knowing that he could be watching would have been impossible for her. This was all despite the fact that when she arrived to Team Metal a while ago, she would have given anything for such an opportunity.

Was she really still in love with him? She'd gotten to know him much more, or more accurately, what he was like. He still had that aura of mystery, and thinking about it, they didn't really know too much about each other. Despite that, they completely trusted each other, almost dangerously so considering the occupation.

Jenna learned during her early days as a grunt in Afghanistan that getting attached to her fellow soldiers was inevitable. Brotherhood among warriors was a given. Yet, dedicating oneself to another too much was extremely unsafe, especially when the relationship grew past the point of brotherhood.

She first regarded Derek as her crush, and over time grew to respect him as her teammate and superior. Yet, she wasn't sure if she even looked at him that way anymore. That original, naïve puppy crush was replaced with something completely different. He meant a whole lot more to her than just a crush. No matter what, she felt dedicated to him.

_I'm… looking forward to getting to know you better now. Even if I'm afraid it'll get in the way of our working relationship. I still feel like I should._

She wrapped her arms around a pillow – a strange habit of hers that earned some teasing when she first enlisted – and tried her best to ignore the fact that she was sharing the bed with someone.

* * *

Derek stumbled out of an alleyway, trying to run after the van his sister was taken in. Futilely, he pushed his battered body more and more, collapsing into tears as he watched it speed off. Spitting blood onto the sidewalk, he pulled himself up and turned to a brick wall.

"FUCK IT ALL!" he cried, violently punching it, feeling the pain ripple through his knuckles, seeing the bloody imprint he left on the wall.

He always relived moments like this in his dreams. Of course, he didn't tell anyone about it. It always hurt to remember. The last thing he needed in his line of work.

Derek turned around, all of a sudden faced with a reinforced metal door with a keypad. He punched in the number and entered to find a blonde woman restrained to a chair, sobbing. Despite being unable to see her face, he immediately recognized her as his sister. He dashed forwards, shaking her shoulder.

"M-Mia…?" he said gently.

The woman looked up, revealing that she wasn't at all his sister. In fact, the person before him changed into a totally different individual. Mia was replaced by another blonde, a green-eyed Russian with the same kind of look in her eyes that many soldiers had.

Natalia Petrova. A name he could never forget.

He suddenly heard a bunch of slumping noises against the floor. Stepping back, Derek saw the unconscious bodies of three American MPs on the ground. He was now recalling the incident where he and Grinch caught a few soldiers attempting to violate their prisoner, Petrova.

He never particularly realized why it all felt familiar to him when he stopped it, but it was finally coming together.

The door behind him exploded with a loud bang, and when he looked at it, he saw the other three members of his team stacked up in full combat gear. Derek glanced down at the carbine now in his hands, and realized that he too was in full kit. He ran through the door and witnessed the scene in the alleyway once again.

He felt something snap inside of him, seeing his sister pinned beneath a man two times her size, shifting his body upwards. Derek realized that this time around he was armed, and flicked his gun on auto.

_DIE. DIE. DIE. DIE. DIE! _were the only thoughts going through his consciousness as he brought his weapon to bear and squeezed the trigger.

Thirty rounds of pure revenge ripping through the motherfucker's body. Derek slipped out his handgun and ended each of the other men with one trigger pull each, watching as blood and gray matter stained the walls.

Derek rushed over and quickly knelt down in front of the girl, guiding his gun off to the side as he inspected her.

"A-Are you all right?" he asked.

The girl's eyes widened as she broke out into a smile, squeezing her eyes closed as a single tear slid down her cheek. When she opened her eyes again, however, they had become an unmistakable shade of hazel.

"Th-Thank you, Frosty!" she exclaimed.

Hook. Hook was staring back at him.

_What… the… fuck,_ Derek realized, taking her hand and helping her up.

She clung to his arm as he brought her out. He was still completely confused as to what was going on. Both Moore and Petrova in the place of his sister. There was only one thing that it could mean.

_That_ was what made them stand out. _That_ was what he saw in them. He had an insatiable urge to protect them, almost as if he wanted to make up for letting Mia go. Taken aback by this revelation, he quickly awoke, thrashing beneath the sheets violently for a second.

He glanced around the room, squinting as the morning light filtered through the window into his eyes. He felt the warmth of the sun on his face as he shifted to look at the other end of the bed. Jenna was apparently awake, and surprisingly early at that.

Absentmindedly, Derek arose from the bed, yawning loudly as he approached the bathroom. He knocked on the door, the hollow noise echoing through the quiet room. She didn't seem to be making much noise…

Jenna hesitantly opened the door, the hinges creaking dryly as she poked her head out. She quickly closed it again, making Derek slightly irritated.

On the other end of the door, Jenna stroked her clothes one last time and glanced at herself in the mirror. She woke up extremely early, just to get herself all pretty to spend the day with Derek. She knew deep down that it wouldn't be anything more than just two soldiers drinking on leave, yet she felt obligated to look nice for once.

She reluctantly stepped out, scratching her cheek as she tried to push her way past Derek. He started to enter the bathroom. Both froze partway through, staring at each other. Jenna felt completely paralyzed by Derek's gaze.

_Jenna… you…_

Derek felt as if he was looking at a completely different person. This girl standing before him wasn't the Hook he knew.

Her chestnut hair was tied back into a tiny ponytail, her bangs mostly kept out of the way with a hairclip, a few strands loose. She had also applied eyeliner, and looking closely, she was subtly wearing what seemed to be lavender eyeshadow. Her lips seemed slightly glossy and more pink than usual.

Jenna's outfit was also completely unexpected. A dark, cropped denim jacket contrasted with the plain white V-neck shirt she wore underneath it, the sleeves rolled up to reveal her forearms. Derek felt a slight pull at his heart when he saw the white bandages wrapped around her left arm at the wrist. A pleated skirt rested on her hips, and she wore knee-high leather boots that were completely different from the ones she wore outside the wire.

She looked absolutely stunning, however, and Derek realized that she was actually very cute dressed like that. Something about the fact that she wore her uniform sloppily but put effort into her civilian wear instead of the other way around struck him as endearing.

When Derek managed to shake it off and head into the bathroom to change, Jenna hid her face and went over to the bed to sit down for a second.

_Oh my God… did he think I tried too hard? Does he not like it? Of course, stupid, he always sees you in your uniform, what do you expect!?_ she agonized.

She felt equally surprised when Derek stepped out in anything but his usual Crye combat uniform.

The first thing she noticed was his hair – still the same, shaggy nearly-white blond, but styled into a much more disheveled look, his bangs swept aside instead of hanging down like usual. He wore a long-sleeved gray button-up shirt, his sleeves pushed up right above his elbow. In his open collar was a pair of aviator sunglasses, the expensive kind. His hands rested nonchalantly in the pockets of his dark jeans, a silver watch with a leather band wrapped around his left wrist.

And so it seemed that both of them dressed up somewhat for the occasion instead of wearing normal street clothes – a sign that the day certainly wasn't going to be a boring one at all.

The two began to head out, but Derek promptly excused himself and went over to his suitcase to grab something. He pulled out a plastic case and opened it, taking the object inside and inspecting it carefully.

It was his personal handgun, a Glock 17 chambered in 9mm Parabellum. He chambered a round and put it away in his concealed holster just in case. To hell with whatever gun laws France had, there was just a Russian invasion and he wouldn't be caught pants down without a weapon on Condition 1.

It was a scary world out there, especially being stripped of his kit and rifle. More importantly, he had to protect Jenna especially after the incident back in New York.

"So, where are we going anyway?" Jenna asked, watching him step out the door and ensure it was locked.

"First things first, a buddy of mine told me we should rent a moped. Easiest way to get around," Derek replied.

They both proceeded to the lobby. Jenna waited somewhat patiently while Derek consulted a receptionist. A few minutes later, he returned with a map, walking straight past Jenna towards the door. She quickly caught up with him, a little bit mad he just did that.

"What was that for?" she pouted, walking behind him as he casually put his hands in his pockets. "Not even a 'hey, let's go?'"

Derek stopped and sighed, slowly turning his head around to see her puffing up her cheeks and balling her fists. Someone was cranky.

"All right, you need me to hold your hand, then?" he grinned, taking her hand and pulling her along.

"H-Huh? What are you doing?"

Derek checked the map and studied it while waiting for a crosswalk light to go on. When he memorized the directions and put it away, people were already crossing. He quickly began to cross the gap between himself and a few people in front of him while a car attempted to squeeze through. It stopped abruptly, the driver quite irritated.

Jenna let go of Derek's hand and angrily slammed the car's hood, leaving a dent the size of her small fist. The driver honked loudly, certainly upset that this rude lady just damaged his car. Derek casually rubbed his ear while Jenna growled, kicking the bumper repeatedly until it fell off. The horrified driver leaned out the window to see it on the ground while Jenna casually took hold of Derek's hand again and continued walking.

"Th-That was a bit much…" Derek said, looking over his shoulder and seeing the man leave his car and pick up the bumper, clearly about to break into tears.

Derek checked the pricing sign for moped rentals, and nodded, requesting two. Jenna promptly tugged him on the sleeve, and he turned around with raised eyebrows.

"I, uh, I can't drive one of these," Jenna admitted. "I can't actually drive _at all_, to be completely honest."

"Fine," Derek sighed, turning back to the man at the kiosk. "Make that one."

He hopped onto the seat, putting on his sunglasses and nodding at Jenna to get on. She climbed on after some hesitation, trying to stay on best she could with her hands holding the sides.

"Now, there's no need to be that way," Derek said, reaching back, grabbing her arms, and wrapping them around his torso. "You gotta hold on, all right? They ain't giving us helmets, so if you bust your head and get any stupider than you are I don't want it being my fault."

As they began to drive, Jenna tried her best not to hold on very tightly, but Derek had a really bad habit of making sharp, fast turns. She found herself squeezing him maybe a bit too much. She couldn't help but feel a little bit embarrassed, especially whenever she felt his solid abs beneath her arms.

They stopped at a large open area with plenty of grass and people going about their recreational business as if the city hadn't been swarming with angry Russians for a couple of weeks now. Derek chained up the moped and surveyed the park, trying to find a spot to relax.

"What are we doing here? Is there anything to do-?" Jenna whined.

"There's dogs."

"Holy fuck, then let's go!"

They surprisingly managed to find an unoccupied bench. Settling it, Derek suddenly produced two deluxe-looking crepes, almost out of nowhere. Jenna gawked at them, especially because she didn't see him stop at any stands at all.

"Swiped them from some guy selling them. And don't give me that look. I didn't have any Euro cash on me, so I just left a $100 bill on his stand. I'm sure he won't mind."

He turned to Jenna to see her completely focused on something off in the distance. She was staring at a cavalier spaniel being walked by its owner, a middle-aged woman. Both were headed in their direction.

"It's a doggo…" Jenna whispered to herself. "Cute little doggo…"

When the two got closer, the dog trotted over to Jenna and stood on its hind legs, resting its soft paws on Jenna's legs. It stared up at her, tongue out as it wagged its tail. It was quite possibly the cutest thing Jenna saw for a really long time, and she couldn't help but break into a giggle.

The lady who owned the dog cocked her head and smiled at Jenna. She nodded cheerfully, stroking its head as if to invite Jenna to do so. She bent down and pet it, feeling its fluffy hair beneath her fingers.

Jenna waved as the woman and her pet departed, although she felt like something was missing.

"Uh…" Derek said, looking at Jenna's crepe, which fell onto the ground when she went into her little petting frenzy. "It's all right. You can just have mine."

Jenna accepted the dessert from him, biting into it with a soft grunt and tasting the explosion of creamy flavor in her mouth. She grinned at Derek, flashing an "ok" sign.

"It's that good?" he said, grabbing it back from her and taking a bite straight into it before she could protest. "Huh. Damn. That's actually… the best crepe I've ever tasted. Now I'm kinda mad you wasted yours."

He thrusted it back into her hands, wiping some cream off his lip and adjusting his aviators. Jenna stared at the crepe in her hands, blinking as she reached up to cover her mouth. He bit right into the part that she was eating.

She looked up and saw a particularly strange man sitting on a bench across the park. He was alone, and didn't seem to be enjoying himself at all. He lit a cigarette and impatiently tapped his foot, constantly glancing around as if he were nervous. His clothing was even stranger – it was all mismatched cheap stuff that didn't seem to fit him very well.

Another man approached, a bald guy wearing casual clothing. He seemed reasonably buff, more so than the average person. He was carrying a large duffel bag that seemed completely stuffed. He had a multitude of tattoos completely covering his arms, and he carried himself much like a soldier would.

"Check that out," Jenna said, nudging Derek and subtly pointing him in their direction. "Look funny to you?"

Derek took off his sunglasses and observed them, watching as they exchanged a particularly professional handshake and departed together, slightly rushing as if they were trying to escape.

"Yeah, you're actually right for once. Seems pretty sketchy to me. Finish that up, let's follow 'em."

They got into a beat-up, prehistoric van that actually backfired a few times before pulling away. Jenna and Derek were already on the moped, rolling behind them.

"Hoo-, Jenna, I'm gonna need you to keep an eye out. Make sure nobody knows we're tracking these dudes."

They followed the van as it seemingly drove in the same direction for a couple of minutes, occasionally stopping and looking around as if to inspect their surroundings as tourists. For the majority of the time, they didn't stick out very much, until the van got closer and closer to the restricted zone the police and military sectioned off to keep civilians away from the contaminated areas.

Two blocks down, there was a checkpoint manned by two French soldiers. The van made an abrupt right turn. Derek drove the moped a short distance forward and dismounted, quickly running up to the nearest building and peeking around the corner.

A group of men, about six in total, abandoned the van with a multitude of bags and backpacks and headed in the direction of the restricted zone, entering an alleyway.

"On me," Derek ordered, rounding the corner and opening the door of the apartment building.

Upon entering, they realized that it was abandoned, like most of the buildings in the area so close to the affected areas. Jenna followed her partner up the stairs to the roof. They came out on top of the roof to spot the group of men entering another building closer to the blocked-off area.

"Fuck. Let's get going. Call the guys, tell them we're tracking some possible stragglers."

"Didn't bring my phone."

"And mine's dead… crap. You think you can-?"

He looked her up and down and cut himself off.

"No, I know you can handle yourself. Come on."

They carefully followed the men into the contaminated zone for roughly an hour until they reached what seemed to be their meeting point.

Jenna and Derek quickly hid in a building right next to a courtyard filled with tired Russian soldiers, all stripped of their full combat kit to varying degrees. Heavy-duty military crates were scattered around, a few with weapons leaning against them. There was a table with what seemed to be crude explosive devices strewn about on top of it.

Four of the six men from earlier threw their duffel bags down and began to pull out chest rigs and suppressed weapons – seemingly AS VALs – and readied up. The apparent leader, the man from the park, conversed with someone who Derek determined to be the officer in charge of the stragglers. There were about thirty people there.

"So, you guys are the remnants we were told to meet?"

"Yes. We will assist you and provide necessary support for whatever operations you are to be initiating in this area."

"Excellent. Thank you again for helping us get here unnoticed."

Derek leaned over to Jenna and whispered in her ear cautiously, trying to make the best of what he was able to translate.

"They're smuggling in special ops guys, seems like. Probably to do some sabotage shit."

After exchanging formalities, the crowd dispersed, beginning to go about their work preparing for what was presumably their first operation. A couple of soldiers departed to patrol the area, armed with Skorpion vz.61 machine pistols.

"Oh, fuck!" Derek said, hearing one stepping up to the door to the building they were hiding in.

He drew his concealed handgun, keeping it trained on the door right where the soldier's body would presumably be if he walked in. Jenna, on the other hand, darted over next to the door, making sufficient noise to attract attention.

_What the hell is she doing!?_

However, this caused the soldier to open the door quickly. Jenna was hiding on the side the door opened towards, sufficiently hidden. The Russian spotted Derek first, and began to raise his Skorpion. Before Derek could snap off a shot or the Russian could level his weapon, Jenna kicked the door, knocking the soldier off to the side. Catching the doorknob at the last second and closing it quietly, she proceeded to tackle the Russian to the floor, pinning him down as she grabbed a pillow off a nearby couch and pressed it into his face to muffle his screams. She waited for him to stop before tossing the pillow aside, taking ahold of his head, and snapping his neck.

She took the Skorpion and searched his body for mags, making sure a round was chambered. She gave the OK sign to Derek after ensuring the guy was dead.

"I'll never be able to comprehend how you can be so stupid but so good at killing," he remarked. "Let's get the fuck out of here now."

He peeked through the window and saw an alarmed soldier approaching. Wincing, Derek stepped back and planted two rounds in the man's center mass. His body slumped through the broken window, followed by a swarm of rounds into the building. Derek fumbled through the dead Russian's gear for a grenade. He primed it and hurled it into the courtyard, rushing up the stairs.

Jenna followed, making her way up the steps while Derek leaned around the corner and snapped off more rounds at a few soldiers coming over. He turned around and headed upstairs, cautiously aiming downwards.

Locating a window, Jenna kicked open the glass panes and leapt onto a nearby roof. She fired a few bursts of suppressive fire at the stragglers and rolled away, pulling herself up and running the length of the rooftop.

"Damn it, we're out of roof!" she snapped as Derek came up alongside her.

He glanced around, trying to locate an escape. He located a nearby balcony, shook his head, and jumped for it. He landed on it, tumbling into the door with a grunt. Getting up and leaning against the wall, he waved Jenna over.

She attempted the jump too, nearly falling if not for the railing around the balcony. Derek quickly pulled her over and kicked open the door, pulling his handgun up and scanning the room. Jenna found a pair of pliers on the floor and flipped them around in her hand.

A sudden _ding_ sounded behind them, and a door opened with two enemies inside. Derek dispatched one of them instantly while Jenna glanced at the pliers in her hand. She threw them straight at the second man, the tool smacking against his face and stunning him. He was finished off by a prompt burst from the Skorpion.

They took the stairs down and after concluding they evaded their pursuers, took refuge in an alleyway. Both took the moment to catch their breaths, huffing heavily. Derek slid down the wall and started coughing violently.

"A-Are you okay!?" Jenna asked, rushing over to him and placing her hands on his shoulders.

"Nothing I'm not… already… used to," Derek panted, gritting his teeth, clearly in pain.

His eyes widened at something behind Jenna, and he grunted, forcing himself onto his feet as a small trail of blood streamed onto his chin.

He shoved Jenna forwards, pressing his entire body onto hers and slamming her onto the wall. He squeezed his eyes shut with a short groan and opened one just barely enough to aim his Glock at something in the alleyway. Three reports and three shell cases hitting the ground later, Jenna opened her eyes to see three bodies slumped at the opening to the alley. She realized that she was on the ground, feeling Derek's raggedy breathing against her body. His hands found her waist and he held her for a couple of seconds before rolling off with a sigh.

"Hey, dumb… shit. Are you all…r-right?"

"I SHOULD BE ASKING YOU THAT QUESTION, DAMN IT!" Jenna cried, bending down and burying her face into his chest.

He felt her sobbing, dampening his shirt as he brought his hand up and placed it on her head.

"I'm glad to see… you care this much," he said with a grin.

"How can you even joke about this right now?" Jenna snapped, her face becoming redder as she rubbed her tears away. "I'm taking you to a hospital!"

"Don't," Derek dismissed. "I'm used to this. Just take me back to the hotel… so I can rest."

* * *

McCoy stretched his body, blinking a couple of times as he sipped tiredly from the mug in his hand. He was exhausted, but at least grateful they accommodated him (and let him use the last Keurig cup the coffee machine could make.)

He caught Catherine off to the side staring at him, holding a couple of files to her chest. She hid behind the wall somewhat clumsily. McCoy rolled his eyes and waved her over.

"Coffee?" he offered.

The shit was too sweet for him anyway. Too much creamer and sugar in it. He didn't really request it at all. They just brought it over and presented it, and considering it was the last cup, he couldn't really say no.

Catherine hesitantly came over and took the mug from him, beginning to step away. McCoy raised his eyebrows, sighed, and turned away to stare at the neatly-arranged books in their respective shelves.

He felt the woman take a seat next to him and smirked. Predictable.

"You know, I really love… well, loved my job," she remarked.

McCoy turned around to see her staring somewhat wistfully at the shelves.

"I always loved coming to this place when I was little," she said. "Distracted me from what was happening at home, I guess."

She sipped from the mug, twirling the liquid inside around, the steam slightly fogging her glasses.

"So I came to work here, y'know? But I always felt awfully… lonely. I was never particularly great with the guys who came in for some reason."

McCoy shifted in his seat and glanced around. He wasn't sure if he liked where this conversation was going. In fact, it was going a bit too fast for his liking.

"Always wanted to run away somewhere. This place was really the only thing anchoring me in this city. I thought it was over when I escaped my… _uncle_…" she trailed off, becoming a bit reluctant. "I-I'm sorry, we aren't even acquainted and I'm telling you things I shouldn't."

"No, it's fine. Please, go on."

Catherine turned to him and gazed into his eyes, almost shocked that he was so willing to hear her out. She cleared her throat and faced forward again.

"I don't really want to talk about it much more," she nervously said, trying to change the subject. "Sorry if I was so rude to you at first. When I heard we had a guy from the military, I expected some strict, curt, stick-up-his-ass kinda person."

"Couldn't be further from the truth," McCoy scoffed before feeling a sudden hand on his thigh.

"S-Say, you seem like a very, um… nice guy. Do you ever feel _lonely?_"

"Sometimes? I guess?" McCoy stammered awkwardly, looking around nervously.

Admittedly, he kind of did sometimes, although he didn't worry about it too often. He expected he'd probably find someone one day, but definitely didn't think it would happen so fast. Were all women like this?

"Tell me, soldier boy. Haven't you ever wanted a girl to be yours to do whatever you want with?" she purred, leaning closer to him. "Please, I'm so fucking lonely. I don't want to die single. Please."

McCoy remained frozen, completely caught up in the moment. He didn't know what to do at all.

She took his lack of response as a sign of consent, and bashfully kissed him on the lips. Those eyes of hers gazed longingly behind her glasses.

"Take me," she whispered.

McCoy winced, still entirely stiff. He didn't know whether to run or whether to go with it, but either way he wouldn't be able to do anything.

_Fucking hell._

* * *

**Lord above, I am finally back. This entire chapter was so damn hard to write, and underwent at least three different revisions. I really did hit a really bad wall with this one. I got really bad writer's block and was unsure where to go with the story, and this was the best way.**

**I barely know what I'm doing anymore. But I do know how I plan to end it, and we're slowly getting there I guess.**

**I know the lot of you will be disappointed especially over the lack of DURR HURR MUH RUHMRRZ but it's ok! Chill out! It's not sunken yet! It's just I felt like I should sorta develop the relationship between our two favorite Delta operators more!**

**Direct any complaints and salt to my PM, please. **

**Anyway, yeah, time to get to know McCoy a bit more. He's been a relatively boring background guy in this story (much like in the game) so I decided to give him some love. **

**In this version of the MW2/3 plot, China's cooperated with Russia to an extent and has become one of the factions fighting on the US West Coast. They're also much more powerful, like the Russians.**

**I will not apologize for bringing the Rainbow Six: Siege GIGN operators into this. I had to make a nod to that game. Don't worry, Derek/Frost is just as aware of how strange it is as we are. The question is now, was his camera stare because he was breaking the fourth wall, or was it because he knows you have to take those things out to fuck with the defending team?**

**I began writing this way back in June, before I ended up buying Overwatch. Looking at it now, Derek screaming DIE, DIE, DIE is a lot more awkward. Please do not associate that part with Reaper at all, I beg you.**

**The title is both a nod to the fic that inspired this story, **_**Same Stuff, Different Day**_**, and also a reference to the strange things that happen to both of our heroes on their first "dates…" if you can call 'em that.**

**Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed. I promise next chapter will make sense and not be a shitty filler that I had to rush out the door. **


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